Silverware
by shannello
Summary: multichaptered : Kyle Broflovski claims he's straight. Kenny McCormick knows he isn't. Put them in a story where they learn everything the hard way — drugs, alcohol, sex — and we've got... well, boyhood. : K2 slash : COMPLETED ON OCT 16, 2009
1. chapter one

**SILVERWARE  
**by shannello

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: i wanted to write something happy. somehow i decided there needed to be naked boys, drugs, alcohol, lots o' sex, and everything else that's well wrong. i think this is the best i could do (for a prologue:D) so, enjoy! hopefully i'll get some readers who actually like me!

**update** (june 3o, 2oo9): i re-worked this entire chapter. this story is shit. sorry.

( d i s c l a i m e r ) nope.

.

.

.

.

It was hard for Kyle to believe he'd turned gay for his best friend. Homosexuality was like unfamiliar territory, unacceptable by most religions, exciting and addictive and the best thing that ever happened to him.

It was fucking grade ten, they were all just fucking kids, but none of them gave a shit. Everything was chaotic and messy and flirtatious, and therefore everything was _fun—_and that's all children want, really, right? Some times were sad and hard and exhausting—those were the times Kyle hated the most—but there were some times that were bright and fast and Kyle liked those times best.

Kenny, on the other hand, had been flirting with homosexuality for as long as he could remember. He hated the word 'bisexual', but used it anyways, for lack of a better one.

Kyle knew that Kenny was bi; actually, _everyone _knew Kenny was bi. It was pretty much yesterday's news. Old, but still a little shocking when he thought about it—like, holy fuck, I grew up with this kid, and all this time he was a fag?

Now, his thoughts were a little different—_holy fuck, I'm a fag._

He could remember Kenny staying over his house on the weekends, nudging Stan with his bony elbow, squeaking, "what the fuck, share!" He'd pull down his hood, his hair all static and up around his face, stuck to his jaw. "I'm hungry too!"

Kyle didn't mind back then; well, Kyle didn't know back then.

Now, well, now Kyle really minded. He minded when he fell asleep at night groaning because he knew he'd wake up in a sticky, sick mess of discharge from the dream he was gonna have. He minded that when he walked in school he couldn't help but glue himself to Kenny's skinny hip. He fucking minded how Stan kept bugging him, "_dude_, when are you gonna get a girlfriend?"

When Kenny pulled him into the boys bathroom that day, taking off his sweater, shirt, jeans... sweating... telling him over and over how much he wanted him...

Kyle felt some sort of release that day.

A reassuring release that he, Kyle Broflovski, was gay.

.

.

.

.

"Welcome students, to grade ten!" babbled their principle, grinning brightly at the lot of bored, unresponsive teenagers. "This year's going to be tough, but I have complete faith in all of you." Her eyes fell on Kenny. "I know that each and every one of you won't give up, no matter how difficult school seems to become."

Pshh. Stan bumped him from beside. "You buying any of this bullshit?"

Kenny shrugged. "You fucking kidding? She's a bitch."

"Classes will be down this hall, here. Homeroom will have your locker combinations and numbers, so go! Have fun! And stay the responsible young adults I know you all are!" Her bouncy blonde hair covered her shoulders when she threw her arms up in excitement.

And the kids were off.

"Oh my god. That woman just gets fuller of shit each year," grumbled Stan, heaving a book bag over his shoulder.

Kenny grinned. "You mean, each day." He stuffed his hands deep inside his pockets. "I can't stand her."

His mind flashed back, remembering that day when she stopped by his house, investigating bad grades and too many absences to find his parents fighting in the doorway, his dad leaving and his parents' divorce only days away. He remembered her standing there, papers slipping out of her hands to the floor, watching. Him. Sob.

She'd ran away. She didn't slump down beside him, rub his back, tell him, 'It's going to be ok, Kenny. Everything will be absolutely ok'.

"Dude, you're zoning out."

Kenny jumped, returning to Earth. "Sorry."

Stan shrugged, walking into homeroom. Kenny followed behind. "Where's Kyle? It's not like him to be late, especially on _orientation _day."

Kenny looked up. Kyle. His eyes went out of focus.

It _wasn't _like Kyle to be late. It really wasn't like him. But—

Changing the subject. "Where the fuck is Cartman?"

"You're forgetting, it _is _like him to be late, _especially _on orientation day," said Stan, asking for his locker so he could stuff all of his shit in it and get it off his back. Kenny did the same, grinning.

Kenny picked lint from his pocket, feeling naked. "Stupid fatass. Wonder what the fuck he's doing—"

"Your mom. I was doing your mom, Kenny."

Stan blinked. Kenny blinked. The homeroom teacher blinked.

"You _are _here," Stan said, raising his hands up. "And I was thinking you'd actually _skip_ today."

"Hey! Shut the fuck up about my mom!" said Kenny, eventually.

Cartman laughed. "Boys, boys. Don't congratulate me just yet, but I. Just. Pulled. Off. The. Greatest. Prank. Ever."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well," Stan said, blinking at Kenny, obviously annoyed. "Let's go see what the fatass did."

Cartman grinned maniacally, singing a song as he lead them out the school doors incautiously, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to point at the bushes.

"CARTMAN! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

Kenny leaned over the edge of the stairs to glance down—

—and saw a flash of pale skin and bright-ass red hair.

_Holy shit!_

"Stan? STAN! Oh my god, dude! GIVE ME SOME CLOTHES!"

There was Kyle. Late.

In the bushes.

Naked.

"Wow," Kenny said, Cartman nodding his head enthusiastically in response.

Stan patted his shirt, looking down at Kyle sympathetically. "Dude. I only have one tee-shirt on..."

"Fuck YOU. GIVE ME ANYTHING."

Kenny blinked. "How did you fucking pull this off?"

Cartman smiled. "Oh, Kenny. The secret of my success is. Just. That. A secret." He used two pointed fingers to accentuate certain words.

"FUCK YOU!" Kyle screamed from inside the bushes.

Stan gulped and poked Kenny, telling him to check out the leaves. "Shit, man," Kenny said, leaning down, pressing his hands onto his thighs. His blue eyes zeroed in. "Is that poison ivy?"

"Oh my go—FUCK YOU, TOO!"

Cartman was laughing his fucking ass off for at least ten minutes before Kenny decided to take off his sweater.

"Here," he said, reaching down into the bush to hand it to Kyle. His voice was low and serious.

"Thnks," muttered Kyle, pulling the parka over his head, the sweater muffling his voice.

"Kennnneh, why would you ruin my prank?! It's the greatest EVER and now that you've giving the Jew clothes it's over. Over guys. It's OVER."

"Shut up, Cartman, it went on long enough," Stan said, waiting for Kyle to pull the sweater down as far as it could; it stopped around his mid-thigh.

He climbed out of the bushes, steaming. "That BASTARD knocked me out and stole my fucking clothes—oh my god, are my balls wet?!"

Kenny laughed, gaining a series of ignited glares from Kyle, an exhasted look from Stan, and a stunned and devasted glance from Cartman (who would be ganged up on momentarily).

"Seriously, Cartman. Where's his clothes?" Stan said and Cartman rolled his eyes. He clasped his hands together, nervous.

"Why would I tell you, STAN? So you can give the fag his clothes back while I watch my plan fall to pieces? I think not." Cartman shot Kyle an icy look, eyeing his bare calves and goosebumps.

Kenny laughed again, his shoulders rolling back. He walked over to Kyle, touching his elbow. "Hey, come on. I got my gym clothes in home room; I'll change into my shorts and give you my jeans."

Kyle's eyes glistened. _What the fuck?_ Kenny thought.

"Thanks, man. I'll give them back right after I MURDER Cartman and get my clothes back." His hands balled up into little angry fists.

They left, hearing Cartman squeak and Stan demanding him to give Kyle's underwear back at least. They both knew the fucking fatass wouldn't do it.

"Jesus Christ. First day of tenth grade and I'm already naked."

"You're a little late," said Kenny, smiling. "I was naked by eighth."

Kyle smiled a little, the humor raising his spirits.

"Seriously though," Kenny added, pushing open home room and grabbing his clothes. He walked back out, seeing Kyle waiting, trying to hide. "How the fuck did Cartman knock you out? He's like, 500 pounds. How did you not see him?"

Kyle blushed. Hmm. "Shut up."

Kenny shrugged, then lead him to the bathrooms. "Well, here—" he slid off his jeans out in the middle of the bathroom, neither of them knowing this scene would be repeated months later. He felt naked, too, standing with Kyle in the bathroom, socks on, underwear showing slightly below his belly button, his knobby knees tingling.

Kyle stared at him.

"What?" Kenny barked.

Kyle blinked. Then shook his head. _What the fuck_...

"Just—thanks," he said finally, breathing out quickly, taking the jeans and pulling them up. He didn't have any underwear on, (Kenny would remember this later when he rewore those jeans alone in his room days later, remembering Kyle borrowed them.)

Kenny put on his shorts as the bell rang.

"Hey, what do you got?" Kyle asked, playing with the strings of the parka, shifting slightly.

"Um, English, I think. With Stan."

"Shit."

Kenny breathed out. "What?"

"I have chemistry."

"Shit's right—you got that with Cartman. Your best friend." He punched his arm playfully as they left the bathroom.

"I can already see the look on his face—_Kyle, you fag! Wearing your boyfriend's clothes_?" Kyle let his head hang down, defeated.

Kenny laughed; Kyle knew he was bi, but didn't hold back 'fag' when he mocked Cartman. Actually, Kenny noticed that... Kyle didn't make it clear that he really _knew _that Kenny was bi. Did he even know?

Kenny _told _him...

Kyle acted like Kenny never said anything, never got caught making out with a different boy each week in the same spot under the stairs, never started thinking that guys were hot and that penises were fucking cool.

Being half-gay wasn't something he thought about often, either, even though he was fucking Kenny McCormick, the school's imfamous bi hookup. He'd grab your boobs and your boyfriend at the same party. Nothing mattered more to him than a good kisser and a better lay. To him, he wasn't _bi_. He was just into guys and girls, into sex and boobs, into mouths and making out.

Maybe Kyle didn't want to acknowledge that kind of thing. In fact, maybe the only moderately sexual thing Kyle had ever seen was his parents pecking after dinner and Stan and Wendy's famous frenching. Maybe he was still in the works, and being exposed to such... profanities was just too much. Maybe he was just insecure.

Or, maybe he just didn't care. There were things between them that neither liked to talk about. There were certain things about them all, Kenny, Kyle, Stan, even Cartman, that none of them discussed or even thought about. Little things, big things, things that shouldn't matter but do.

Suddenly, Kyle was a bit more interesting than he'd ever been.

Kenny watched him. His eyes barely crossed his as they walked. Kyle stared down at his shoes, a delicate sort of smile on his lips.

Something made Kenny feel seriously weird. Something in the way Kyle didn't look straight into his eyes, didn't ask any questions about him "turning gay" or liking boys and girls. It was all so confusing—Kenny didn't know what to make of it. Kyle was a mystery.

A big, cute, complicated mystery.

Kenny shook his head/tried shaking all of his thoughts out and gave Kyle a glossy look. "I know telling you to just ignore him won't do anything, so, uhm, ride it out."

Kyle smiled, his cheeks pink. "Thanks."

.

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: so. well. sorry about this. :D it's gonna drive you CRAZY.


	2. chapter two

**SILVERWARE  
**by shannello

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: i've grown up since i wrote this. re-worked and rejuvenated.

.

.

.

.

It was only three p.m. and already white, creamy, warm liquid was pouring out—spilling out like a geyser down over his rim, settling around what seemed like endless balls…

—of Coco puffs, the sweet milk lifting the cereal to the middle of the red bowl. Ike, nine-year-old, child genious, was enjoying his first bowl of the day. One of many, actually.

"I love cereal."

The clock hit 3:06. Loud footsteps pounded outside the door. Ike's face lit up, his eyes widening a centimeter.

"—it was so fucking embarrassing, oh my god…" The door swung open.

Ike put the spoon into the bowl and swung his feet, watching his brother and Stan crowd though the doorway, kicking off their boots and a sock or two, the heavy rustle of coats following immediately after. He breathed in quickly and took another mouthful.

"Hi, brother," sputtered Ike, almost distantly, as his eyes tried to flicker to the television in the living room.

Kyle waved at him distractedly, his cheeks still hot. Today was the absolute _worst_…

"Come on, let's go upstairs," ushered Stan, tugging on Kenny's parka (Kyle still had no shirt on underneath).

"Ok, you go up. I need to make a call…" said Kyle, straightening his hat. The soft sound of Stan's feet up the stairs could be heard behind him as he turned.

"You're making a call?" prodded Ike. He turned his body to follow his brother. "Who? A girl?"

Kyle shrugged. "No. Eat your cereal, Ike, and stop bothering me." His fingers clutched the phone, easing his hand down around it, before lifting it to his ear. He stared at the numbers.

_Do I want to invite him over?_

He hadn't done much with Kenny over summer break.

Kenny had a job, if that was conceivable, at a warehouse or something, possibly a cigarette factory (although, if the rumors he heard were true, then Kenny was actually a prostitute), making a little extra cash. Or, actually, a lot of cash.

He could remember Kenny calling him once, asking him to go out for lunch with him. He didn't really think about it. Lunch? Even better, free lunch? It wasn't something you turned down. So, Kyle went. And they talked. A lot.

About what? Kyle couldn't remember that. Maybe if he sat down and really thought back, he could get a few sentences out. But he didn't think about their conversation. He remembered the way Kenny smiled. He remembered the way Kenny's mouth moved when he talked, when he was angry, when he was happy. When he laughed. Kyle remembered Kenny taking the bill from the waitress right away, his lips forming _I got this_ with such enthusiasm…_ I got this._

_I got this_, Kyle remembered, and only now did he wonder where Kenny got the cash (and the courage to call and ask him out on a date—uhm, luncheon).

Now, several weeks later, Kyle thought about it.

In that brief moment before his fingers dialed Kenny's number, Kyle stood back and actually thought about his friend. He thought about what he knew, what he heard, what he wished he didn't hear. He thought about everything Kenny said and realized that he didn't remember much about that at all, but he always remembered the sound Kenny made when he talked. His voice was like double cherry pie.

And, even though he didn't want to go there, Kyle thought about Kenny's sexual orientation. Yeah, true, it shouldn't matter at all, but it still gave him a weird feeling.

Bisexual. It was enough to scare a guy's friendship right outta him. But somehow, no one treated Kenny differently. Except for, you know, _guys_.

That was the weirdest part. Maybe that was the reason Kyle didn't see much of Kenny over the summer. He did try to visit him — it wasn't a very forgettable trip either. He _thought_ the moaning was Kenny's parents, and was overtly prepared to go in and tease Kenny about it…

Only to find Kenny _fucking…_

Yeah. That was something Kyle didn't like remembering. But on the occasion he did remember, the only thing Kyle could reanimate was Kenny. And occasionally, his mind would wander and the boy Kenny was fucking sort of looked like Kyle—

_—_whoa. Don't go _there_.

He shook his head. Ike jumped behind him. "Are you gonna call?"

"Shut up," barked Kyle, sweating.

Why was this so hard?

Kenny was his friend. Best friend, too, maybe. They didn't fight. They never hated each other ever in their lives. They could possibly be the model best friends. No fighting, no hating, no girlfriend (or boyfriend) stealing. None.

So, based on that information, calling Kenny shouldn't have been so difficult. Besides, he would have probably dropped everything and walked over. Kenny was like that, wasn't he? Possibly, anyways, unless he was fucking.

Kyle smiled inwardly. He hoped not.

And he wouldn't just straight up reject his invitation, right?

No. Kenny wasn't like that. Was he?

Goddammit, WHAT DID KYLE FUCKING KNOW?

_Nothing__. I know absolutely nothing about Kenny except for the fact that he's bisexual and that his last name is McCormick._

Ok. He knew more than that. But the serious stuff? _Who do you liiiiiike? Who gave you head first? Who did you give head first? Did you ever see a vagina in real life—no pornos either, a vag. In. The. Flesh?_

Well. There were more questions than that, but Kyle couldn't think right now. All he could think about was how _fucking_ hot it was. "Ike, open that fucking window."

Ike raised his eyebrows.

"PLEASE," hissed Kyle, wiping his forehead with his hand.

He slumped into a chair nearby and actually thought about the problem. The actual problem. The reason Kyle was feeling so tense and angry all the time, especially when he thought about Kenny, or whenever he seen two dudes kiss, or whenever he was just feeling bummed.

_Why didn't Kenny tell me first?_

Kenny's bisexuality was discovered through a series of events: first, Kenny was sort of seen necking with a tenth grade boy (who remains anonymous) in seventh grade, but it couldn't be proven.

Next, at a party in eighth grade, Kenny _volunteered_ himself to give Clyde a hickey (which he did, and it was a professional one that lasted for almost two fucking weeks).

Thirdly, Kenny came to school in ninth grade, covered in hickeys (that he couldn't have made himself), then got caught by the principal making out with _Craig_ (who is _swear-to-god_ straight, even after the whole thing was broadcasted to the entire grade by a tag-team assault by Cartman and Bebe) under the stairs.

Then finally, when they were hanging out at Stark's pond during spring break last year, Kenny, chewing on gum, might of casually told his _closest_ friends that he thought some guys were hot and that they shouldn't worry because he wasn't interested…

In. Any. Of. Them.

Kyle slumped down further into his chair. Well.

Nothing to worry about, then. Kenny _did_ tell Kyle about his bisexuality (even though it was seriously last minute and totally not heartfelt in any way) and he had no feelings for _any of them_ so… everything was okay.

OKAY.

"Are you gonna call? Because if you're not, I need the phone to call mom because we're out of milk and—"

"HOLD ON!" exploded Kyle, grinding his headache into his temples. He could hear Stan put on music upstairs. Okay. It was now or never.

His fingers pressed the first of the numbers. 5.

Six more.

He tapped them in automatically, heart heavy. He didn't like remembering things—like his grandma's death, that rabbit he had years ago, Kenny avoiding telling him he was bi—things that upset him.

The phone began to ring, and it was a miracle he didn't hang up already.

After 20 seconds or so, it stopped ringing. Kyle listened to someone handle the phone roughly, then soft breathing. "Hello?"

It was a boy's voice. A familiar voice. A voice Kyle had listened to all day in their five class periods together, excluding lunch. Kyle swallowed and tried helplessly to clear his voice.

"Hey. It's Kyle."

Kenny must have been playing with the phone cord, because static paraded for a minute before quieting. "Yeah, hey. What's up? Still wearing my sweater?" Something in his voice was off, but on, at the same time, and Kyle sort of liked it.

Kyle laughed, "Yeah. I didn't have time to go upstairs…"

"Is Stan there?"

What_?_ "Uhm, yeah…"

Kenny's end was quiet for a minute, but soft sort of loud noises could be heard in the background. "What are you doing?"

Kyle thought quickly, _What do I say?_ "I'm…"

Kenny's breathing made Kyle tense up. He wiped his forehead again, blinking at the wall. "I'm not doing anything…"

"Cool," said Kenny, sounding happy. He had an screwy way of making everyone confused (maybe as much as he was) with every little thing he did, said, didn't do, didn't say.

Never said.

Kyle closed his eyes. "Uhm, yeah. I wanted to know if you wanted to come over."

Kenny sniffled. "Alright. I gotta find something to wear first. I'm a little naked right now…"

Kyle felt warm. "Sorry about taking your jacket home."

"No prob, it's okay… unless you _want_ me to go over naked—"

"NO!" said Kyle, laughing. "That's not necessary. At all."

Kenny laughed. It was the happiest Kyle's heard him in a while. He wondered what his face looked like right now; no hood, plain, uncovered. Pure.

Happy.

"Oh-okay," said Kenny, sniffling. "See you soon, Kyle. Tell Stan I said "Hellooooo."

Kyle smiled. "Can do."

The call ended and Kyle pictured Kenny starting up his father's truck and driving over, a plain white shirt on, blonde hair—

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Stan screamed from the top of the stairs and Kyle and Ike jumped at the same time. The kitchen shook.

"SORRY!" shouted Kyle, kicking back out of the chair and running up the stairs. "Goddammit."

.

.

.

.

"Holy shit, dude, you took _forever—_" whined Stan, who was sitting on the bed, piles of CDs spread out around him. His face was flushed from the humidity from summer that still hovered in Kyle's bedroom. Instinctively, Kyle opened the window.

"I said I was sorry already, Jesus." He sat down next to Stan.

Stan shrugged, flipping through a CD book. "Whatever. Who'd you call, anyway?"

Suddenly, Kyle didn't feel like talking. "No answer."

The room grew damp, the heat from before and the breeze from the window colliding. Stan swallowed loudly and a truck backfired in the driveway.

"…Kenny," said Stan, without getting up, knowing by the way the truck sounded, the sound of it's tires stopping, and the sound of it's half-dead horn like it's half-dead driver. Kenny picked him up billions of times during the summer. Some days he even got picked up when he was sleeping over at Kyle's.

Kyle got up slowly, sliding over to the window to stick his head out. Wind ran across his face, making him squint his eyes down at the blue truck parked on the road. Kenny pushed open the driver's door.

"Hey!" shouted Kenny happily, waving up at Kyle when he came into view. Kyle smiled back.

"Come up!" said Kyle, hearing Stan walk up behind him to look out, too. His eyes flickered to the truck.

He spent most the summer with Kenny.

The truck held lots of memories.

The windows foggy. Steamed.

Stan grunting, occasionally moaning in defeat and humiliation at Kenny's expertise, something he knew that he'd never have. Kenny already knew so much, had done this so many times already, and Stan could only watch as Kenny guided him, nice and slow…

—along the highway at nighttime, when no one was on the road, teaching fifteen-year-old Stan how to drive.

Stan smiled, too, thinking back on their trials-and-failures; Stan hitting a hydrant open with the bumper of the truck, then Kenny having him back up and turn the truck off so they could get out and play in the water. It felt so good to be wet on such a hot night.

"You didn't warn me _he_ was coming over," Stan said into Kyle's ear with merriment.

Kyle shrugged, caught, walking to the bed again. "Sorry. Must of slipped my mind."

They listened to Ike laugh downstairs, Kenny telling him a offhandish joke, something dirty no doubt, and Kyle would have to remember to search Ike's room for _Playboy_'s (since the last time Kenny was over, Ike began hiding magazines under his mattress). He pictured Kenny ruffling Ike's messy black hair, because that's something Kenny would do.

Ike shouted something like "They're upstairs!" and up Kenny went, all 5 feet and 11 inches of him. He knocked on the door with his knuckle before shimmying in.

"Hello, ladies," said Kenny, smiling. He was in a pink shirt. _Pink_. Kyle thought he looked half-naked without his orange parka. For some reason, he held the jacket to his body protectively.

Stan smiled back, "Hey. You got the truck…"

Kenny laughed, knowing already what Stan wanted. "Don't get any ideas, dude. I'm almost outta gas."

"I'll pay—fill it up, even." Stan's eyes gave Kenny a once-over.

Kyle sat in the dark. Excluded. Not _in-the-know_. A little annoyed that his two best friends shared something that he didn't. Jesus. Just when he thought _maybe_ the secrets could be over…

Kenny leaned back and crossed his arms. "Stan wants to drive."

Kyle frowned. "Drive? What?"

"You know, vroom, vroom!" Kenny imitated handling a steering wheel and Stan flushed pink.

"I know what driving is, Kenny. I just didn't know Stan knew _how_."

Stan looked away. Here come the secrets... "Yeah, um, Kenny's been teaching me how. We've had like, a million lessons during the summer."

Kyle was jealous.

He didn't like being left out.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he woke up once or twice during the summer, his arm no longer strewn across Stan's chest, the room empty save for him. Their sleeping bags touched slightly, like their knees had, and Kyle crawled to the window to watch a pickup truck take off shakily down the street, stopping and going ruggedly. He fell asleep by the window, the light of the brakes going off every 0.5 seconds or so.

Quietly, he wondered if this is how Kenny felt when he and Stan were together nonstop in grade school. If it weren't for Wendy (and others) they would still be connected by the hip. Even worse, Kyle wondered if this is how Cartman felt.

Kenny zeroed in on his face. "Don't tell me you wanna—"

"What? What? I don't wanna—"

Kenny looked at Stan.

Stan looked at Kyle.

Kenny grinned, and looked at the both of them.

"Driving lesson numero uno."

.

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: not as cool as it could be.


	3. chapter three

**SILVERWARE  
**by shannello

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: not sure what i think about this. review, anyways. re-worked. **added an entire section** that's **really fucking important**, i think. maybe everyone should** re-read** this. haha.

.

.

.

.

Realizing he was going to be forced into driving—no matter what he said, did, hit, stole, or insulted—Kyle buckled the seat belt and well, _swallowed_.

Sweating, he turned the key.

"That's it, you're doing fine," said Kenny cheerfully, not bothering to fasten his seatbelt. Stan, on the other hand, tried yanking the unused seatbelts in the back around his body, in case anything horrible happened. Secretly, he was planning on saying he was kidnapped if the cops caught them.

Because, well, Kyle had never driven before in his life.

Well—there was this one time. He was driving so fast, so smooth like he'd been driving for fucking _ages_. There was nothing in front or behind him, no cars tailing him. Just him.

And the road.

Or, actually, the track.

Go-kart track.

He swallowed, a second time.

Kyle flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, getting used to the leathery feeling, and gave Kenny a once-over.

Kenny, sort of, smiled back at him. "Ready, Kyle?"

He nodded, hesitantly. "Are you sure—sure you want me driving your dad's truck? I have like, no driving experience AT ALL and—"

"KYLE! Just step on the gas, dude," said Kenny, grinning. His eyes went out of focus. "You know I trust you."

Kyle stopped breathing and tried to concentrate. _Press down on the gas._

The truck jerked forward. He could hear Stan breathing in the back. _Slowly…_

He tried again, this time almost sending Kenny out the windshield. _SLOWER!_

_Oh-okay. Now I just need to trust me—_

Kyle blinked. He turned and blinked at Kenny. Something inside his brain deflated.

"What?"

Kenny stared back, biting on his lips, and said, "What? You're doing good, keep going—"

"_No_, you said—"

"KYLE! WATCH THE FUCKING ROAD!"

They were halfway into the other lane with a minivan started _raging _towards them at like, 90 miles per hour, and Stan was about to jump ship and haul ass when Kyle straightened out. They sat, parked in the middle of the road, watching the van pass by honking angrily, little kids pressing their faces up against the window at them.

Hearts pounded erratically for about seven minutes, up until the point when Kenny started laughing _maniacally_. Kyle leaned forward to rest on the steering wheel and scared the _shit _out of Stan when he beeped the horn accidentally, apologizing over and over.

"No—no problem, dude," replied Stan, who was fucking crapping himself. He'd have to remember to NEVER fucking ride with Kyle ANYWHERE—license or not.

Kenny wiped an imaginary tear and grinned. "I think you did really fucking good."

"No way," said Kyle, doubting any possibility of having done _good_. This trip wasn't good enough to be called SHIT.

"No, seriously," continued Kenny, still giggling. "You made it halfway down the street and prevented a fucking car CRASH—all during your first driving lesson—I say that qualifies as good."

Stan smiled a little then, too.

All Kyle could think of saying was: "HOLY FUCKING SHIT. WE ALMOST DIED!"

The three of them breathed out a series of SERIOUS laughter, and the smacking of knees and shoulders was heard among the honking of horns behind the parked pickup. Kyle's eyes watered and Stan unbuckled, and in the passenger seat, Kenny snorted.

"It'd be a fucking _miracle _if we made it back to your house," said Stan.

Kenny opened his door, slid one foot out and said: "I think it's my turn."

.

.

.

.

Back at Kyle's, the boys started the night by piling on the couch and watching reruns. Kyle's foot touched Kenny's just a bit, making both of them heat up and get awkward. Stan, of course, was oblivious to this.

"Oh, fuuuuuck," he mewed, standing up abruptly.

Kyle's eyes flicked toward him. "What?"

Stan groaned again, running a hand through his bangs. "It's Wendy. I was supposed to meet her for Chinese, like, fifteen minutes ago. Shit balls."

Kenny's face brightened. "Cool. Bring me back some rice. Oh, and a fortune cookie. Maybe it'll say 'you will die today,' haha."

Kyle looked at him, quickly, then back at Stan. "So, need a ride?"

All of the color drained from Stan's cheeks. "Not from you."

Kenny swung his feet. "I could do the honors, if you waaaant."

"Please and thank you," said Stan, biting his lip. Everyone knew what a bitch Wendy Testaburger was, especially to Stan, who, even after all of these years, had it out for her. They broke up and made up over a thousand times, it seemed like, at least. Their love life was fucking boring to Kenny, unless Stan was talking about what they did in bed last night, which he never did. It was like a fucking mystery, dude. Like, did they have sex or not? Wendy's pussy wasn't that sacred. Stan could touch it, if he wanted to.

But, Wendy was such a bitch to Stan. They probably fucked like, twice, even though they've dated over twelve times, for extended periods of time. He should have been shitting his pants, which he probably was, since a weird smell started to surface after he said 'shit balls' with such paniccc.

"Alriiiight," said Kenny, jumping up from the couch. He pulled the keys out from his back pocket and stretched. "Let's go, then."

After ten minutes they pulled into a handicapped parking space and let Stan out. He was shaking, or at least looked like he was. But hey, anyone would be in that situation.

They said their good byes and good lucks and Kenny put the truck in reverse.

Before pressing on the gas, he looked at Kyle expectedly.

"Wanna take it for a spin?"

Kyle shook his head, but three minutes later after a series of tired groans he was behind the wheel, strapped in.

"Why do you do this to me?" he asked, miserable.

Kenny laughed. "Because I love you."

Kyle shot him a look.

Kenny retaliated with a perky grin and said, "Just step down on the pedal, not too hard, and steer. It's easy, you can do it."

Carefully, Kyle backed them out of the space and switched gears clumsily. He was doing good, actually.

Kenny allowed him to drive pretty much on his own, throwing in supportive words and advice here or there.

They were completely silent for ten minutes before Kyle said, abruptly, "Where are we going?"

Kenny settled back in his seat, enjoying the bumpy ride. "Anywhere's good."

Kyle nodded, understanding. The silence grew back like mold, everywhere in the truck, but it wasn't terrible or anything. It was kind of nice, like, they didn't have to talk. They didn't have to talk and that was okay.

But when they did talk they talked about everything.

Kenny told him how his new dad makes his mom so happy that she disappears for a few days and comes back wearing new shit, and when he sees her like that he feels happy, too. But he still feels bad because he hasn't talked to his real dad in months.

Kyle told him how sometimes he wishes his mom would go away, like completely. But she's like a fucking parasite on his heart, and he really, really loves her. Like more than he thought he did.

They talked about summer, and how they barely seen each other, and they talked about people, and how they really don't give a shit about anyone, besides Stan, and maybe that's it.

Kenny talked about his secret job, which was just bagging cigarettes at a local factory, and how fucking good he got at it. Like, really good. It's the easy job ever, he said, and it made good money if you were fast enough. Kyle said, at least you're not working the streets, and Kenny replied, "I stopped doing that months ago."

Kyle talked about drugs, and how sometimes he really, really wants them. Kenny said sometimes he's like that with people. Sometimes he just needs to touch someone to be happy, and when he does, he really is.

"I OD'd a couple years ago, do you remember?" said Kyle, yawning, getting used to the feeling of road beneath his shoes and the thought of controlling something 3700 lbs heaiver than him.

Kenny eyed him, put off. "No," he said, quietly. "I think I was dead."

Kyle coughed.

"What were you on?" said Kenny, after a short minute.

"Ecstasy," said Kyle, serious. "And alcohol," he added, later, regrettably.

"What happened?" asked Kenny.

"I was dehydrated, had a seizure. My heart stopped, and I had to be brought back, three times."

Kenny didn't know what to say, so he said, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," said Kyle, something off in his voice. "It happens all the time. Well, not to me, but to everyone. Everyone fucking overdoses like, _once_ in their lives, right?"

Kenny's hand twitched and he placed it on Kyle's shoulder. Kyle jumped, but started to calm down.

"How—how many times did you overdose?"

Kyle swallowed, his eyes on the road. "Four times."

"Fuck," breathed Kenny. "Why do you still do—"

"Drugs?" Kyle laughed. "I can't stop."

"Ecstasy can fucking kill you, dude—"

"You don't think I know that? I fucking know that, Kenny."

The truck turned into an uncomfortable chamber that neither of them could get out of.

Kenny sighed, long and dramatically. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't fucking be," said Kyle.

"Where do you get your drugs?" asked Kenny, his words really fast and clear.

"Up your ass," replied Kyle. Then, "I don't see why I tell you anything. You never fucking tell me anything."

Kenny stared at him. "What? I tell you fucking _everything_. You're the only person I fucking talk to."

"STFU," Kyle spelled out, angrily. "Why didn't you tell me you liked boys?"

Kenny blinked. "I _did_."

"No," said Kyle, "I mean, first. I'm your best friend, and you fucking left me in the dark about it for years. Don't lie to me, you fucking liked guys for years."

"Obviously," barked Kenny, "I didn't tell you because you'd fucking blow up in my face, like you are right now." He growled a little. "If I told you sooner than I did you'd probably drop me as a friend because you're fucking like that."

"I wouldn't have dropped you as a friend. What the hell, Kenny."

"Yes, you would of."

Kyle stopped the car suddenly, and when you're going 35 mph and stop in less then five seconds things get thrown around and bodies get injured. Fortunately, neither really happened.

Instead, Kyle turned his body to completely face Kenny. You could actually _see_ how angry he was. It was like his entire body was constricted and tight, hot and angry. It looked like he was fighting to keep all of it inside.

"You don't know anything about me," he started, pointing. "So shut the fuck up. You don't know what I'd do."

"I know a lot more about you than you think, asshole," replied Kenny. "We've been best friends for fucking ever. You have no idea how much about you I know."

"You don't know _shit_," said Kyle.

They stopped talking for about five minutes, before Kenny said, "You haven't liked a girl since fourth grade."

Kyle didn't make an effort to look at him. "So?"

"I know that you're a virgin, too," continued Kenny, his face blank. "You lie and tell everyone you banged Rebecca, even though everyone knows you're full of shit."

Kyle said nothing.

"You're asexual, aren't you?"

"_No_! Fuck you, Kenny," exploded Kyle, finally.

"You obviously get erections—so what's wrong? You could get a chick like nothing."

"It's not that simple," said Kyle, sighing.

"You need that intellectual connection? Haha."

"Well, yeah, maybe. I don't know."

Kenny eyed him again, cautiously. "What, then?"

Kyle caught his eyes. "There's no one I really want."

He put the car in drive, again. His hands were shaking from being so angry.

Slowly, he started to drive.

Kenny's tongue refused to work for a minute. Eventually, he said, "Sorry for blowing up."

Kyle shook his head. "I'm sorry, too."

"I used to think I knew everything about you," said Kenny, giving Kyle a once-over. "There's a lot of shit I don't know about."

"Yeah," said Kyle, his driving improved but still clumsy. "There's a fucking lot you don't know."

Kenny was quiet for a minute, before saying, his voice low and smooth, "I want to know."

Kyle's eyes flickered. "Me too."

Millions of things crowded into Kenny's brain, worries about drugs and overdoses and boys and girls and sex and friendship and everything else. He didn't know what to say to make Kyle happy, despite the sudden urge to make him smile and laugh. He wanted to hold his hand, or something, anything. He wanted to make everything better.

"Well, this was eye-opening," he finally said.

Kyle giggled, and agreed.

They pulled into Kyle's driveway, a little after eight. Shyly, he put the car in park, and turned to face Kenny.

"Wanna visit for a while?"

Kenny yawned like a cat, stretching his body as well as he could. "Maybe."

"Get your ass out of the car," threatened Kyle, a small smile on his lips.

Kenny obeyed.

.

.

.

.

Finally home again.

Not much Kenny could expect here. He got one square meal a day—okay, so the meal wasn't so much a _square_, but he still _ate_, unless you could poptarts, even though technically those are rectangles—a roof above his head, a bathroom, and—

The phone rang somewhere in another room.

—they had a phone. Fucking incredible for a family who lives off food stamps.

He stalked into the kitchen and took his time picking up the phone, guessing who it was.

"Hello? Mother fucker! I've been calling you for THREE HOURS and NOW you decide to answer?! Fucking po' boy…"

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

"Cartman?" asked Kenny. "Why the fuck are you calling me for? It's like fucking—" here, he checked the clock, "—midnight." He pulled out a chair from the table and relaxed. He had his parka back. It was still warm—still smelled like Kyle's house, still smelled like Kyle's skin, his sweat and hair. Kenny breathed in and smiled.

Relaxed.

Cartman wasn't as casual. "Listen here, Kenneh. Clyde wanted me to invite you to his party this Friday, so quit your fucking complaining and be GRATEFUL I even remembered. Stupid bitch."

Kenny straightened out, almost tipping the chair back. "What the — why are you calling me a _bitch_, you ass-fucker!"

"Why are you calling _ME _an ASS-FUCKER? You fucking pussy—pussy hoe bag!"

"Shut the fuck up, you mother fucking cunt lick—"

A door slammed. "KENNY! WATCH YOUR FUCKING LANGUAGE!"

Kenny jumped, and Cartman must have too, since both lines were seriously quiet. Kenny's mom disappeared back into her bedroom, no doubt still awake only because her new husband was getting some.

Cartman snickered on the line.

Kenny fell out of the chair and tangled up in the phone cord.

"We-hell, you beh-ter fu-fucking go!" laughed Cartman, and Kenny giggled on the kitchen floor, the phone cord coiling around his neck.

"Yeah, okay, whatever, you son-of-a-bitch," said Kenny, trying desperately to make it out alive.

Cartman snorted, "Bye, faggot!"

Kenny would have hung up—

—if he still had a pulse.

Seven thirty in the morning, Kenny came back.

He had a blistering headache, was covered in sweat, and reeked of hell and whatever else was down there.

He didn't have his homework done.

"SHIT MOTHER FUCKER!" shouted Kenny, who was royally fucked. School was his only priority (or at least, it should've been) and he didn't have any of the assignments done. On the second day of school. "Great. Fan-fucking-tastic."

At least the house was quiet.

Mom and Dad 2.0 were sleeping (hopefully) and Kevin was probably getting into bed, rejuvenating after a night partying hard at a friend's house. Kenny was dead on the kitchen floor—as usual—so everything seemed fine.

Except for the fact that he was actually _excited _to go to school.

"The fuck's wrong with me?" said Kenny, his voice scratchy from a night wasted. His body ached from laying on the floor for so long, and his skin was still cool.

The smallest, most paranoid part of him worried.

Maybe he was losing his mind—it happened before, obviously—and this was only the beginning. Next, he'd start getting good grades, then do extra credit in every class, including gym. Finally, he'd develope a taste for human flesh and devour Kyle and Stan.

Actually, that didn't sound too bad.

Attempting to stand up was harder than staying up, but Kenny had to do it. Because... SCHOOL IS IMPORTANT!

He grinned, changed his outfit as little as possible, pulled up his hood, and ran out the door. The truck was cool (to him) but gas prices weren't, so the bus was his main mode of transportation to school. Just like when they were little, the boys started pooling around the bus stop, the four of them waiting in a line. Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Cartman.

The four of them, like always.

"'Morning," said Stan, rubbing his eyes from what looked like a bad night's sleep. After nearly dieing with Kenny and Kyle, it was a surprise he even came to school.

Kyle smiled, "Hey, dude. Did you sleep okay?"

It was cute to see them act like that. Loving. Super Best Friends.

Although, today—after waking up from the dead on his kitchen floor with what had to be the WORST fucking headache ever known to man—Kenny wasn't feeling the love. He was completely unhappy. A little on the miserable side, too.

And... freaked.

_I'm jealous_, he thought, nervous and confused, head buzzing with curiosity.

The bus pulled up before them and the door swung open. Kenny boarded, piled into one of the back seats and thought.

_What if_—?

.

.

.

.

School was fucking lame.

Kenny didn't even know why he bothered to go.

Maybe it was to get out of his house. Or just to have that feeling of importance in his life. And education _was _important, even if algebra fucking ELUDED him, and geometry was like staring at porn with no sound—you get half the experience but you're completely lost.

Fuck, school was hell.

"Hey!" a familiar voice called, somewhere behind him in the hallway. It'd be impossible to see who it was, so Kenny kept walking, turning into the boys' bathroom.

Kyle stumbled in behind him, cheeks red from running. "There you fucking are! Did you get invited to Clyde's party?"

Kenny shrugged, but smiled at Kyle. "Yeah. Cartman called me last night." He left out how they spent half-a-hour playing "you 'insert-insult-here'".

"Sucks," said Kyle, leaning against the bathroom wall. "Cartman's such a douche-packer."

Douche-packer. Kenny would have to remember that one. Cartman was going down.

"Go on," said Kenny, raising his eyebrow, hoping to get another name out of Kyle.

"What? About what? Cartman the fucking cum guzzler? No thanks, dude." Kyle looked away.

Cum guzzler? Priceless. Seriously.

"Okayyy, dude. Know where Stan is?" asked Kenny, and a tingly, cold feeling tickled Kyle.

Why did he want Stan? Seriously, one of the first things Kenny always asked him was 'where's Stan?' Suddenly, Kyle felt uneasy. "No… I didn't see him yet." Kyle's eyes darkened attractively, but Kenny was too busy staring out into the swarming hallway to notice.

"Dude?"

Kenny's eyes zeroed in on something moving.

"DUDE?"

"OH, what?"

Kyle sighed out. It reeked in the bathroom like cat puke. He wanted out.

He grabbed Kenny's wrist and tugged him along, almost playfully, like they were children again. Kyle felt his neck heat up.

"Dude," whined Kenny, trying to slide out of Kyle's hold, "let go, man."

Kyle refused.

"Kyle, let go." He said it so seriously that Kyle stopped smiling, looked back at him and stopped pulling.

Kenny hissed, rubbing his wrist, and waited until the people watching disappeared down the hallway. "People are gonna think you're a fag, dude, if you hold my hand."

"What?" said Kyle, fiery and cross.

Kenny shrugged. "I don't want people thinking you're gay."

"What?" said Kyle. Kenny looked up.

Defiantly, Kyle grabbed Kenny's hand, totally hard and rude, and stared at him with this almost arctic look. "Listen. I don't care about people. I'll hold your hand if I fucking _want to_."

And he said it so honestly that Kenny fucking believed every fucking word he was saying, the look on his face so serious and businesslike that Kenny would have believed anything he said, at that point. Kyle fucking Broflovski was being rebellious and fuck, it made him sexy as hell and Kenny liked it, a lot. Defiance looked good on the kid.

Kyle's eyes focused completely on Kenny's face, making the older boy nervous and gooey, not literally, of course. Not yet.

Kenny's heart skipped, and he couldn't help but stare back—at Kyle, at the on-looking retards, the occasional teacher that couldn't do anything, since same-sex touching wasn't prohibited. Students swamed around them, as they stood, somewhere between school and a sea—but the boys weren't like that, they were friends, they didn't think twice about each other in that way. They couldn't—

Kyle's hand loosened and Kenny instinctively held it tighter, the kids in the hallway barking like dogs. But—

There was a moment.

When nothing.

Made sound.

Nothing.

Moved.

But.

Kyle's.

Eyes.

And.

Kenny.

Couldn't.

Stop.

Smiling.

.

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: fixing my mistakes/shitty writing. hopefully this is better?


	4. chapter four

**SILVERWARE  
**by shannello

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: re-writing every chapter, as fast as i can. ready, set, watch me go! review please :)

.

.

.

.

Things couldn't have been more awkward in the hallway, holding hands with the sluttiest boy in South Park, until Kyle caught sight of Stan Marsh approaching them in the distance. Stan Marsh, his best friend of ten years or so, who was probably the faggiest one of them but still wouldn't be fly with two of his friends randomly holding hands at school.

The boy's eyes zeroed in on Kyle's face, then flashed between the two for a second before landing shakily on their connected hands.

And that's when things totally blew up.

Kenny's feet brought him forward, and Kyle, being the gentleman he is, instinctively moved toward him, and their lips met clumsily.

Stan was speechless. "_Kyle_—" was what he managed, but what else was there to say?

He had no idea. Okay. So, your best friend and your other best friend are swapping spit in the hallway. First of all, they're the same sex, and second of all, you're scared shitless.

Do you:

a) walk away, trying not to piss yourself.

b) yell insensitively about homos and fags and the sort

or c) stand awkwardly in front of them and wait for the fag fest to end

Naturally, Stan did choice c. Impatiently, of course.

What bothered him most was the way Kyle's eyes sort of flickered at him before the kiss took place, but after Kenny pushed himself on him, Kyle seemed to lose interest and totally forgot that Stan was there.

Inches away from them.

Waiting.

Yes, Stan was absolutely confused, to say the least.

People moved around him uncomfortably, several students bumping into him to get a glance of the two fags kissing, and Stan found himself shoving people away.

He surprised himself.

Meanwhile, Kenny and Kyle were completely zoning out.

Things moved backwards around them, sound dispersing totally. Kenny's hand gripped Kyle's shoulder loosely, his fingers barely touching the other boy's tee-shirt. The kiss wasn't as awkward as the way they were positioned was. In fact, it was a little enjoyable. Or actually, more than enjoyable.

Kenny's free hand moved slowly up Kyle's upper arm, resting between his neck and shoulder, right above his collar bone. It felt nice, to be touched by him, Kyle thought, and he wanted to feel more.

Kyle didn't think kissing someone was really that awesome until he did it with someone he actually liked. Not that he liked Kenny that way. Really. It's just, after talking with him in the truck, all the yelling, emotions flared, feelings he didn't even know he could feel came out from no where and—he stayed up late thinking about nothing but Kenny and what they said and everything else in between.

He bit Kenny's bottom lip, slightly.

Kyle was so fucking lost to the world, so when first period bell rang over head, Kenny had to pull away to wake him.

"Hey—um, dude. Time to like, jet," said Kenny, his mouth still dangerously close.

Kenny said that, right? Was that his voice?

Oh my god, Kyle was totally out of it.

He didn't notice getting tugged away by his back pocket, then ending up suspiciously in front of his first period class, a quick, tiny kiss good bye, nor did he notice Cartman shoving past him, calling him a _fag_. Cartman would later say how he _always _knew Kyle was gay, only the Kenny McCormick part eluded him.

Everyone knew Kenny didn't kiss for love, he kissed for sex.

And, now seated uncomfortably in his desk, Kyle realized how fucking scaredhe was.

He just kissed _Kenny McCormick_. Poster boy for average boys turned gay.

Kyle was_ not _gay.

Seriously.

Maybe he had a little slip up, one of _those _times, y'know? One of those, 'oops, sorry, my mouth accidentally touched yours…' times. The kind of times that make you think 'whoops, I'm just gonna walk over here…'.

Because there was no fucking _way _Kenny seriously liked him.

Well, loved him. Because they were friends, and you _have_ to like your friends. Most of the time, Kyle thought, thinking about the group's strange relationship with Cartman, who was surely their pal, but y'know, who knew, really. They _did _call him 'friend', though.

Anyway, back to Kenny.

They were best friends. He didn't think about screwing him after school. He didn't call him every night to talk about dreams and like, the future, or anything like that. Besides their heart-to-heart type thing in the truck they really haven't talk-talked. At least not in a long time, anyway. He was a boy that Kyle thought was nice, and funny, and occasionally super perverted, and not once did Kyle think about making Kenny his boyfriend.

Because Kyle wasn't gay.

Besides, Kenny kissed him first.

.

.

.

.

Kyle kissed him back.

For most of the day, that's the only thing Kenny had thought about.

In first period, he was bothered by Stan to the max, with his "Shit, dude, you totally made out with him" and his "everyone's gonna think Kyle's gay," to which Kenny had nothing to say.

Except for "I know".

He _knew _the entire school would shit on Kyle for kissing him, just like he _knew _Kyle was gay.

It was a vibe.

He could feel it. To which Stan would say "just because you _think _you feel someone's gay vibe, DOESN'T mean you should go ahead and MAKE them gay!"

Kenny was guilty for doing just that. He lowered his head in semi-shame, only semi because he actually kind of liked kissing Kyle. It was nice, or something gay like that.

But something still bugged him. Usually after kissing someone in the hallway, they're marked. Marked as Kenny's for the night ahead. Marked for sex.

Buuuut, as much as Kenny wanted to screw Kyle, there was a anxious part of him that said 'don't do it'.

Don't do it, because once you fuck him, that's it.

Kyle _will_ be gay.

Nothing could change it.

"I'm not gonna bang him,"said Kenny, in between lessons to Stan.

"What? Of COURSE you're not gonna bang him!" shouted Stan kind of, in like, a whisper. Eyes flickered at them. "You can't screw Kyle, dude, he's straight."

Straight. _Yeah_... about that.

"Whatever, Stan, I'm just saying this so you won't think I'm gonna cheat on you tonight," said Kenny, smiling, although Stan wasn't. Stan wasn't feeling humorous at the moment, sorry to say.

"Dude. You already made one of us look gay."

Kenny exploded (in whisper), "DUDE. I didn't make anyone 'look gay'. KYLE KISSED ME BACK." He straightened out, then slumped back. "Anyway, dude, I'm not asking him out. I'm not gonna date him."

Stan blinked. "You're not asking him out?"

"What?" Kenny said back. He was just yelling at him to NOT go out with him. "No."

"You're _not _asking him out? Kyle's _not_ gonna be your boyfriend?"

"Wait—what are you saying?" asked Kenny, his brain getting seriously fried. He braced himself for death by brain explosion.

Stan leaned over so he was closer to him. "You have every reason to ask Kyle out—because you're Kenny, and you kissed him in the hallway—but you CHOOSE not to?"

Kenny blinked. Then blinked again. Finally, he spoke.

"Kyle isn't gay… and I won't bang a straight dude."

Stan seemed satisfied. "That's serious self-control for someone like you, Kenny."

"I know—anyway, I don't think Kyle wants to bang," said Kenny, staring at the front of the classroom distantly. "I don't even know why I kissed him."

Wrong. Lie.

He knew exactly why.

"Really? Jesus, you should like, talk to him or something. Tell him it was—"

"—a mistake? Yeah, maybe I should."

Wrong again.

He knew it wasn't a mistake.

"You really don't wanna bang him? That's like… seriously weird."

Kenny mewed. "Weeeell, I dunno. I wasn't thinkin'."

No. He was thinking.

But, Kenny didn't want to be the reason for Kyle's falling out with society, death by angry mother, and the like.

Just _what_ would his _mom_ think?

Kenny didn't want to venture in that direction.

Still, Kenny didn't even know what exactly attracted him to Kyle. Because he knew for fucking sure that there was some sexual tension between them. He could practically bite into it.

Maybe it was his voice. There was something about the way Kyle talked that could make shivers run through his body.

Or his hands. Whenever they brushed lightly against his, Kenny was reduced to the lighthearted, jelly-kneed middle schooler he once was.

Or his eyes.

Oh my god, it was his fucking eyes.

They were green, but not Ginger green. They were like, totally green, almost emerald green. With like, hints of yellow.

He was fucking gorgeous.

"KENNY!"

Kenny jumped. "Huh? What?"

"Time to get outta here! Dude, second period!"

He bounced out of his desk and the classroom and into the hall, happily. Until he remembered Stan wanted him to tell Kyle that he thought it was a fucking mistake to kiss him and—

There he was _now_.

"Hey. Um, Kenny? Could I talk to you?"

Oh shit. Here it comes.

Kenny swallowed. "Boys' bathroom?"

"No, girls'," Kyle joked, tugging Kenny into the restroom.

Here's where things got fucking confusing.

"I don't… I don't think you wanna date me," said Kyle, right away.

This made Kenny tense up, a sharp feeling pricking at the back of his neck. "Uhm, what?"

"Because, besides the usual sexual innuendos, you've never really shown any… like, interest in me." Kyle leaned against the wall. Something in the posture of his shoulders shown his tension, his difficulty.

Kenny swallowed. "Oh."

"So. We're… just gonna stay friends…" _Because I'm fucking confused right now_.

Kenny blinked.

And Kyle was gone.

.

.

.

.

.

Nobody had ever turned him down.

Even if he didn't want to date him (even though he really did want to).

God, life was so god-fucking confusing sometimes.

Kyle didn't want to date him?

What the shit.

"I'm like, _shocked_," said Kenny, his head in his hands.

Maybe not thinking about today would make things better.

"About what? The Jew-fag's rejection? Me too." Cartman was eating a potpie beside him, sinking down into the cushions of his couch. After school specials were starting to play on tv.

"I was like, for certain Jewboy was a fag. Plus, I had money on yours and his engagement—which I fuckin' lost, because you're too much of a pussy to screw Kahl."

"SHUT UP, CARTMAN. Just because I won't bang Kyle, doesn't mean I'm a pussy! I just don't wanna screw up his life, too—"

"Puhs. Eh. No one fucking cared about yours and Craig's fag fest, two years ago or whateva."

"ARGH!"

Cartman stared. "Dude, just go. Make him gay, because if you don't, some douche bag like Craig's gonna, and you'll be right back here, whining about how lame you are."

It was probably the only sensible thing Cartman had ever said to him.

Said _period_.

"You think—think I should?"

Cartman shrugged, eyes now on the television. "I dunno, dude. What do you wanna do? Or more importantly, what does El Diablo down there wanna do?"

Kenny glanced down. "Um, I don't know what he wants."

"Who?"

"El Diablo. I don't think he even cares what happens."

Cartman snorted. "Well, then you're fucked. How else are you gonna know what to do?"

Kenny punched him. "Dude, there has to be another way to know than… asking El Diablo for everything."

Standing up, Cartman walked into the kitchen to get a soda. Shouting, he said, "Just—I dunno, I'm not gay—um, give it some time, or something. If you're lucky—and we both know you're not—the Jew will crawl back to you, begging for some action. And until then, I'm gonna rip on him for being a pussy."

Kenny's eyes widened. "Helping me?"

"What? NO! I just like ripping on—"

Kenny landed on him in what seemed to be a hug.

Maybe getting rejected by Kyle wasn't so bad. Kenny didn't want to 'turn people gay'.

Ok, well, he didn't _hate _turning people gay. When they were just… _people_.

Not Kyle.

.

.

.

.

_Dear Kenny,_

_I'm not ever gonna give you this letter.  
Cause, like dude, I have no idea what's going on.  
I don't wanna be your boyfriend because you _don't_ date.  
I don't wanna be a lay.  
I just… I don't know.  
This letter blows ass._

_But all I really wanted to write down was that I__—_

.

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: this chapter fucking suuucked. review anyways, haha. :)


	5. chapter five

**SILVERWARE**  
by shannello

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: directions: read, digest, read again. then, review.

.

.

.

.

There was only one thing Kenny hated more than dying, and that was rejection.

He loved getting what he wanted, because when you lived off food stamps and welfare you didn't really get anything. A pop tart every Wednesday, maybe.

Rejection was probably the worst thing he could think of. The McCormick's didn't have a lot to offer, but Kenny had never been rejected for living the way he did (by a boyfriend or girlfriend).

In fact, Kenny could count the number of times he'd been rejected on one hand.

Once by God, twice by Cartman, and once by Kyle. Kenny didn't know if he was forgetting any, but if he was they were probably all Cartman's.

God _could _have let him stay in Heaven. Kenny didn't like getting technical, but when it all came down it, God could have ended this horrific game after the first death. But, _no_. Why not let Kenny live a life of PAIN and HUMILIATION and SUFFERING instead of HAPPY and NORMAL. Oh, wouldn't that be something.

Cartman. Kenny didn't even want to think about him. Kenny was sure: Everything Cartman did to him, he probably did twice to someone else.

But, _Kyle_.

Kenny had never been rejected like that.

Did it even count as a rejection?

"Does it even count as a rejection?" said Kenny, sitting in the snow. Beside him, his blonde friend shivered.

"Oh, I d-don't know," came Butter's childish voice. His blue eyes darted away from Kenny's. "Uhm, well, I suppose, uh, it could."

Kenny scratched his head. Kyle had said _no_. It counted. Oh, gosh, it counted.

'Gosh' was such a Butters word. Kenny didn't appreciate adopting Butters' mannerisms.

Not at all.

But whenever Kenny had no one else to go to, Butters was kinda sorta a friend. A friend when he didn't have anyone else. Kenny didn't feel bad for using Butters, and Butters never complained. Butters never said _no_.

"So it fucking counts? Are you sure? Ughh," cried Kenny. He didn't want it to be _true_.

"I-it does? Oh, well, uhm," stuttered Butters. Kenny's love life was always one of their most updated topics. Kenny always came to him, grinning: 'Butters. You'll never fucking guess who I'm banging.' Or frowing: 'Butters. Turns out he's a tranny.' Not once did Kenny walk up to him, normally, to ask: 'Hey, Butters, how was your day?' Butters would die to hear that.

Kenny stretched. "Kyle Broflovski. Kyle _fucking _Broflovski." He reached over and Butters held his breath. Kenny played with a doomed dandelion, that only had a few days to live before winter took over. "Why did I have to..."

Butters frowned, eying Kenny's hands. "Why, uh, why d-did you have t-to _what_?"

Kenny sighed. Butters hated hearing that sound. He started counting in his head, and Kenny looked up, slowly like a cat. Butters struggled to lock their eyes.

"Why did I have to pick Kyle Broflovski..." Kenny attempted to stand, but a gloved hand stopped him. Butters tried to appear focused. He scrunched up his nose and probably went cross-eyed. He parted his thin lips desperately.

"Kenny, I w-want you t-to—"

Kenny slid out of Butters' grasp expertly, having years of sliding out of jeans and shirts behind him, and stared at something moving, in the opposite direction. "I have to go home."

Butters never heard that one before. 'I can't keep her waiting (wink)_'_ or 'Shit, my mom's gonna think I'm in an orgy again' were his usual excuses. Kenny never had to _go home_.

But he was going. Home, probably not. But he was leaving, and Butters did nothing. Butters couldn't do anything, at all.

"Uhm, goodbye!" was all he could manage.

Kenny waved and Butters' heart skipped.

.

.

.

.

"Kie-yole, your friend called, but I didn't get a name," came a familiar voice.

"_Mom_, Kyle's sitting on my controller," came squeaker, childish voice.

"Kyle, get off Ike's toy."

"Dad, it's not a toy!"

Kyle exhaled, pulled the controller out from under him, and frowned.

Wasn't this how withdrawal felt? Aches and pains. He wasn't sweaty or desperate for water or restless, well, _maybe _the last one.

Addiction? Kyle didn't think so.

He repressed the urge to finish the letter he started.

"Mom, I'm going to bed," said the older son, not tired at all. He wanted to sleep the rest of his life away, though.

Sheila motioned for him to come closer, and she put her hand on his forehead. "You don't have a fever. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," replied Kyle, squirming out of her arms. "I'm just sleepy."

Gerald walked by, guiding Ike to the living room. Sheila whispered something, Ike looking up at their mouths, and Kyle escaped successfully.

He locked his bedroom door.

_I feel like shit_, he thought, lying face down on his bed. Fuck, and some more fuck. Fucking Kenny McCormick.

Kyle sat up.

Needing to distract himself, Kyle signed on to his IM. Sitting at the computer desk was a familiar feeling. Hearing the computer buzz to life was a familiar sound.

The things he was feeling inside his stomach weren't familiar. At. All.

"Who's online?" said Kyle, eying the names. _Wendy, Cartman, Craig, Stan_. Oh, a familiar name.

**KyleZzz: hey.**

Kyle laughed—a few months ago he forgot his password, and Stan made him make a new name at five in the morning. Kyle couldn't keep his eyes open, and Stan had said, "Write '_SleepyKyle_'." Kyle didn't like that one, so they compromised as Kyle fell asleep.

**StantheMan: dude. i called u 30 mins ago.**

**KyleZzz: sorry. i was busy.**

**StantheMan: i talked to kenny. did u?**

Kyle didn't want to go there (But of course he _did_).

**KyleZzz: not since.**

Since school. Since the boys' bathroom. Since...

**StantheMan: u should talk to him.**

Kyle didn't reply, instead he exhaled angrily and slumped back.

**StantheMan: its important u do.**

**KyleZzz: why? **

Why was talking to Kenny so important? Kyle could think of a billion other things he could do to Kenny that would be much better than talking to...

Oh, geez.

**KyleZzz: if u didn't notice, things are messed up between me & kenny.**

**StantheMan:** **dude. JUST TALK TO HIM.**

Kyle closed the IM. _Fuck_, since when did Stan get so annoying. Kyle breathed out. Ugh, he didn't mean that. Stan was just trying to be a good friend.

Emphasis on _friend_.

Something he couldn't be with Kenny because...

He fucking couldn't.

But, God, he _did _want to talk to him. He wanted to ask _why_ and—

"Kyle, _hello_?"

That voice. _Kenny's in my room? _Impossible. But his voice sounded so close, so suspiciously close... Almost like it was coming from underneath his pile of laundry. "Kyle, uh, do you copy?"

Kyle pushed some clothes off of his mattress and checked the others for...

There! He grabbed the black walkie talkie and put it to his ear.

He... didn't know what to say. _It's what Stan wanted. But I don't know what to do._

Hesitantly, he held down the 'talk' button. Hesitantly, he released it.

"Kyle? Are you there?"

Freakishly afraid, Kyle swallowed. "Yeah."

"There you are!" Kenny sounded happy. It was a weird occurrence, but Kyle always felt happy when Kenny was happy. Now, though, Kyle felt awkward and naked.

Kenny would have probably liked that.

"Dude, I've been wanting to talk to you—"

"Kenny, I—" said Kyle, unsure. He glanced around his room difficultly. "I can't believe you still have this walkie talkie."

"What?" Kenny was saying, through the static. "But you still have yours."

"Uhm, what did you want to talk about?" said Kyle, swallowing.

"I want to talk to you in person," said Kenny, faintly. Giggling, he added, "Over."

Instinctively, Kyle pressed the 'talk' button. Automatically, he said, "Where."

"Stark's Pond," said Kenny, and Kyle dropped the walkie talkie on the bed.

Did he _want _to go see Kenny? Yes.

"Five minutes?" said Kenny, his voice popping up from the pillow. He sounded hopeful. "Over."

Kyle ran his hand through his hair and shrugged. What could it hurt? "Five minutes," he said aloud, grabbing his hat.

.

.

.

.

It didn't take long for Kenny to reach the pond.

To him, it felt like the five minutes had passed a long time ago, years maybe, and he was beginning to die. He sat in the place he had been in earlier, when he was talking to Butters.

He was losing warmth, and it wasn't even winter yet.

_I wonder if he'll show, _thought Kenny, blinking. Automatically, he fell backwards, and laid in the snow.

"Sorry," came a voice, and Kenny sprang up. "Did you... wait long?"

_Forever! _"No, not really. I just got here."

Kyle knew better. He'd been standing further away for a couple minutes, contemplating. Thinking about whether he should go to Kenny, or walk home. Deciding, he stepped forward.

Kenny scooted over, and patted the ground, twice. Kyle didn't think twice when he walked over and sat down.

Kyle's body was _warm_, and Kenny wanted to steal it all away.

"So, uhm, hi," Kyle said, clumsily.

"How's your day been going?" asked Kenny, grinning.

"Uhh, fine... Yours?"

Kenny tilted his head, smiling like a child. Too happy. "It's better now."

Kyle sighed. Dramatically, he threw his hands into his lap. "What are we doing?"

Kenny shrugged, leaning back. "Um, talking?"

"But, we're completely avoiding what happened." Kyle closed his eyes.

Kenny exhaled loudly. "Oh. Did you... want to talk about that?"

"Isn't that what you called me out here for?"

Kenny grinned, lopsidedly. "Not exactly."

Kyle stared. Kenny was so... unorganized. Kyle _thought _he wasn't attracted to that. He _thought _he disliked those people. Kenny did everything unplanned. Said things uncalled for. Kissed people unceremoniously.

God, it was people like him that made Kyle angry.

Then, _why?_

Why was he here? Why did he come?

Why did he kiss _back?_

"Well, let's talk about it then!" barked Kenny, giggling. He seemed distracted by the snow that started to fall.

"What—what made you—"

"Do it? Let me tell you, it was hard kissing someone so _short_..."

"Be serious, Kenny," snapped Kyle, who usually liked Kenny's short attention span for a reason he _did not understand_.

"Okay, okay." Kenny looked away. "I didn't want to."

Kyle blinked. "You... you didn't?"

Kenny turned back, trying desperately to lock their eyes, like Butters had. "No."

Kyle didn't know what to say. Again.

"When you held my hand, tehe, Kyle, I didn't want to kiss you," continued Kenny, babbling on casually. Like they were talking about school, or girls, or Cartman. "'Cuz, I think you know all about what happens when I kiss someone."

Kenny never wanted that for Kyle. He just—

"You make it sound like a curse," said Kyle, angry. "You're making me _feel _like I'm cursed."

"It's not a curse!" squealed Kenny. What? "It's really nice, Kyle!"

"What's really nice?" asked Kyle, frowning, to which Kenny grinned seductively. "Uhm, never mind."

"I don't think you're cursed," Kenny said shyly, after a minute.

Kyle didn't say anything. But he smiled.

That was enough.

"So, what's happening—"

"Between us?"

"Dude, you have to stop finishing my sentences," joked Kyle. "But, yeah."

"Weeell," Kenny mewled, "I guess we're just friends?"

_Say no_.

"We've always been friends," replied Kyle, happily. "That'll never change..."

"Yeah, dude," Kenny said, paused, then continued. "We never fought before, did we?"

Kyle thought, but not for long. "No. We never did. But this doesn't count as a fight, does it?"

"No, probably not," said Kenny, smiling. Kyle smiled back.

"Well," said Kyle, standing up. He brushed the snow off his pants, ignoring Kenny's eyes. "I guess it's time to go."

"Already?" whined Kenny. He stood up hesitantly.

Kyle looked in the opposite direction, anxious or something, and Kenny wanted to stall.

But he didn't.

"I'll see you at school?" asked Kyle, turning around. Kenny's face lit up, and he nodded happily.

"Yeah. Uhm, See you tomorrow then," said Kenny. He felt nervous. Kyle was walking away from him again. Rejcted, again, only this time not as harsh. Not as open ended. This time it was 'we're still friends,' instead of 'I don't want you.

God, there was more he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Kyle the real reason. He didn't want to kiss him... because he didn't want people to think—

He blinked.

He didn't even want Kyle to _touch _him. He didn't want people to see them holding hands and _assume _that Kyle was gay now, too.

_Shit_. Kenny started walking back home, away from Kyle.

Kenny tried to repress a demanding urge and turned around.

Kyle was watching him, a blank expression on his face, and Kenny grinned.

"Uhm, bye!" was all he could manage.

Kyle waved, and Kenny's heart skipped.

.

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: yummmy. review?


	6. chapter six

**SILVERWARE  
**by shannello

.

.

yes. it's baaaack.

.

.

.

.

**a/n**: i'm so so sorry this took forever. i was actually giving up on this story. i sort of hate it xD and i want to rewrite the entire beginning chapters. or like, combine them. because, god those niggas are shooort as hell. and i'm 5'10" so that just doesn't float with me. anyways, enjoy this. even though i think it's fucking repetive as shiiit and stinks. like poo. and, well, review if you want more. because i'm not sure. if i'll continue, i mean. i love kenny and kyle but this story is bringing me downnn. unless you like it. then maybe i'll start to like it, too. D:

.

.

.

.

School was a drag over the next six months.

Kyle felt like he was perpetually walking on eggshells around Kenny McCormick, one of his oldest, clever, perverted, possibly mentally handicapped, sexy, uncontrollable, but widely desired friends. The foreign land between them changed sporadically from a battle field to a field of daisies, depending on how much homework either acquired, who was grounded, who was just fucking angry.

Their group welcomed in new associates over that half of the year, from Clyde, to Craig (although he stuck mostly to Kenny's side, and everyone else hated his fucking guts), to even a girl here or there (Bebe somehow rose to power one semester as head-honcho female, even though she came out as lesbian two years ago). But, no matter how many people came or went, the four always remained together, no matter how awkward or tense or difficult it became.

Sometime back in September, a little after all of this 'fag' shit went down, they attended Clyde's annual 'School's Back, Let's Party' party. Although, unlike his other parties, where all they had was two girls, a limited number of beers, and shitty music, Cartman had co-hosted and completely planned the entire thing. The music was considerably better, girls littered the yard, the upstairs, and everywhere in between, and not only did they have a _keg_, there were club drugs floating around the dance floor in little, plastic baggies.

Kenny walked up to the party, hands in his pockets. Usually, he was the first to arrive since he had nothing better to do than wait for the party to start. Tonight, he was feeling down and lifeless, but still craved a beer and anything else he could possibly inject into his bloodstream.

He tried, you know. He tried to stay positive and happy and everything he was known for. He tried to fuck other people, really. Sometimes, though, and don't repeat this to _anyone_, sometimes he couldn't get it up.

_Really_. It was remarkable in the worst way ever, but still it gave him a week off from trying before he actually _needed _to have sex. Then, he had to resort to fingering chicks for a while, getting sucked off, and being bottom.

In the upstairs windows he could see a dark blue color on the walls. Suddenly, the blue turned into green, then pink, then purple, then yellow — different colors splashed across the beige wallpaper. It looked like a rave, a little rave in a little house.

This wasn't right. They were all barely sixteen. The rotating light machine was too cool for sixteen-year-olds.

He tugged open the door half-heartedly and entered, and was handed an opened beer after he appeared through the smoke-machine supplied haze and distractible colors.

"I put roofies in that, just warning you beforehand," said a familiar voice, one that warmed his entire body, made his cheeks hot, made him happier and livelier and Kenny snorted.

"How many?" he flirted, although he didn't mean to. Kyle was already a little buzzed, he could tell. It was probably almost two a.m. by the time Kenny got there, so everyone was buzzed or drunk, if they were in the lightweight category.

Kyle leaned back, took a swig from his drink (a topless red cup with suspicious liquid inside) and grinned. "How many do you think?"

Kyle was cute, Kenny thought. Really cute. He hated how he had to 'protect him' - snort, laugh - from appearing gay when he obviously had the hots for guys. Everything about him screamed 'fag' at the top of it's lungs. Everything, from his fluffy, adorable red curls to his faggy green eyes, to his fucking skinny jeans. And there he was, slouching in front of Kenny, buzzing, warm and happy.

Kenny wanted to kiss him, in that instant.

"I think," said Kenny, grabbing Kyle's hand, "that you want to follow me."

Kyle laughed like it was absurd (which it was, really, if you think about it), but pushed off of the wall and let Kenny lead him through the crowd. Here, everyone was too gone or too busy to notice anyone else. They were completely invisible.

It felt fucking _incredible_.

The kitchen was their first stop. Kenny wanted something stronger than beer, something potent and burning, and found it in the form of a Bacardi bottle. Smiling, he poured it into two empty red cups, filling them ¾ to the top.

Kyle took his cup immediately, taking a huge drink. The face he made when he swallowed made Kenny smile as bright as the sun.

"Where's Stan?" asked Kenny, after taking a drink from his cup. It stung but tasted like a good night.

Kyle craned his neck in the direction of the living room, where it was dark but the walls and people were covered in rainbow camouflage from the light machines. "Last time I checked, he was in there somewhere."

Kyle's pale, naked neck was all Kenny needed to see to completely not give a _fuck_ where Stan was.

It was so_ hard_. You have no idea how hard it was to not be allowed to have those feelings for Kyle. Kenny made it his mission to let them go, to make himself actually believe that he _didn't _want to be his boyfriend, that he didn't even want to fuck him. But he knew it was all lies and therefore his reverse psychology didn't apply.

But Kyle _wasn't _gay.

Already hot and almost animalistic, Kenny opened his mouth. When coherent words didn't come out, he downed the rest of his drink.

"Fuuuuck," he moaned, walking over to the sink to fill his cup with tap water. He took a much appreciated swig and let the tight, constricted feeling in his chest disappear.

"Let's dance," said Kyle, dreamily.

"I'm not a dancer," said Kenny, although he was infamous for his horizontal dance, everybody knew and agreed.

Kyle finished his drink, too, then turned his pretty eyes on Kenny. "I'll teach you, dipshit."

Kenny wasn't into arguing, especially not with him. They were already walking on shit; their relationship was screwed up to the fucking max. Friends? Enemies? Lovers? All three were wrong, maybe. Friends might be the closest to the truth but _both _of them knew they couldn't go back to the way it was before. Something was there, jamming the door open, keeping them from closing it and forgetting everything, forgetting the feeling of each other's lips.

So, feeling considerate, Kenny walked with Kyle to the dance floor, which was really just the living room without the rug, so everyone could dance on Clyde's mom's shiny wood floor. The room was noticeably large, bigger than the kitchen by a lot, with couches pushed up against the walls. People were scattered around the room, dancing in the middle, lying on top of each other on the couches, leaning against the wall, waiting in line with everyone else to get drunk.

Inside the crowd was a whole different world.

Everyone was sweaty and alive and dancing without anxiety, leaving their problems at the door before entering, here, let me take your coats.

Eyes closed, they danced in a rainbow-colored swarm.

Kenny wanted in.

"Take this," said Kyle, already drifting away from him inside the crowd. There was something white in his hand and he brought it to his mouth. Stepping close to Kenny, really close, he opened his mouth and showed him the white pill on his tongue. "You'll feel better," he advised, and then covered Kenny's mouth with his.

No one noticed them.

Their tongues flicked playfully, the pill rolling into Kenny's mouth. He felt his jeans tighten.

Kyle pushed away, watching him attentively. Nervously (although he had no idea why), Kenny swallowed the pill, and let it slide down his body as slowly as possible.

"Did you take one?" he asked Kyle, who had returned to his side and started to bite his neck.

"I don't know, I think I took a lot," said Kyle, unsure, throwing his head back, but his voice light and romantic, and Kenny breathed out voluntarily.

Kyle pressed his cheek against Kenny's chest and rocked softly, and Kenny unconsciously pulled him closer, sliding his arms around him. The music picked up, louder than before, and they danced.

Someone was shouting in the other room, there was an excited scream as two chicks hugged each other, a drink was spilled. All of this was insignificant to the dancers, all of them drunk and high and happy.

Four, maybe five songs played, and Kenny started to really _feel_. His skin against Kyle's was hot, burning hot. His toes buzzed. He wanted to dance and never stop. He wanted to down three more drinks, in five minutes time. He wanted everything, anything he could get his hands on. He wanted more.

There was a surge in the masses and Kyle was crushed against his body. Kyle was so skinny, so tiny. Kenny was suddenly scared for him, angry at the crowd for crushing him, terrified of Kyle being broken in half. His arms wrapped around him tighter.

Emotions hit him and disappeared in flashes, everything fast and endless.

Their bodies moved together for a million more songs.

.

.

.

.

Clyde's party was one of their slip-ups.

It pissed Kenny off how no one fucking noticed they were there at the time, but afterwards, everyone fucking knew. People he didn't even _know_ knew. Everyone talked, everyone gossiped, everyone was_ shit_, and they knew it.

The friends-but-more thing was tiring, and Kenny just wanted to be more or less. Actually, he wanted to be _more_, but at this point he would have taken either. His body couldn't take it, he was exhausted all the time, all he wanted to do was sleep it off.

What made him angry the most, though, about Clyde's party, was what everyone said they did _after_ dancing. You see, Kenny's memory went completely blank after the millionth song, and Kyle could bare remember anything at all about the time, with the exception of Kenny.

Some of the stories were realistic ("You two went home together, around like six or six-thirty,") but some were just fucking stupid ("You guys were fucking on the dance floor, honest to god!"). Kenny refused to believe any of them.

Kenny woke up alone, the next day. He wasn't at home, he wasn't at Kyle's house. He was still at Clyde's, in Clyde's room on a pile of dirty clothes. Cartman was in Clyde's bed, his face covered in marker penises and the word 'fag' written in sloppy handwriting that looked like Butters', because the fat fuck was such a heavy sleeper and never remember to take his fucking shoes off. Kenny didn't sympathize with him, really. They've all been tagged at parties.

He woke up before everyone else, still drunk. There was a champagne bottle by his leg, ¼ of it remaining, and he grabbed it by the neck and took a drink. Then, after bringing himself shakily to his feet, he went off to explore the what was left of the party, or the house, in better words.

Strangers he never met before were sleeping on the couches, someone was passed out on the carpeted stairs. Someone else was awake; it was Annie. She wasn't wearing pants, and her face was scrunched up into a mean little look. She heard him coming and jumped.

"Kenny, oh, it's just you."

Surprised at her familiarity with him (they had almost fucked once, at another party, back in the day), Kenny decided to approached her. "Nice legs, Annie."

"Wouldn't mind having them wrapped around you?" she joked back, digging in the couch cushions for something, something small, oh, she found it. She flipped open her cell phone and checked the time.

"Not particularly," said Kenny, grinning at her friendliness. Usually, chicks were bitches.

It kind of put him off how casual she was being, though. She walked around the room in nothing but a tank top and panties, looking feverously for her jeans, while he watched.

He heard her snort, "Too bad you have a boyfriend, huh?"

She shook her head and laughed, and he watched her face brighten considerably. She pulled her jeans out from under the couch, several twenty dollar bills falling out from the pocks. Actually, 'several' is a bad word for it. Plenty of twenty dollar bills fell from inside her jeans, and Annie giggled nervously. To herself, she said, "Wow, what the hell did you do last night, Annie?"

Kenny felt out of place. A half-naked girl in front of him and he felt out of place.

"What?" he managed, barely.

Annie slid one foot into the leg of her jeans and turned to face him. "You and Broflovski, right? You're together?"

Kenny's tongue went dry. Flashes of last night hit him, hard.

"No, I don't think we are. Why? Did we—"

"No, no," said Annie, pulling up her pants. "Nothing like that, anyways. You and Kyle were just a little _too _friendly last night. You know, too friendly to be friends."

She grabbed a sweater off of the couch and put it on. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it's 9 a.m. my mom wakes up in fifteen minutes for work."

Kenny watched her leave, gave her a lame goodbye, and started to think.

Where was Kyle?

Anxiously, he searched the remainder of the house, including the back yard and the front lawn. No signs of Kyle.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated.

1 New Message, from Stan Marsh

hey r u still at clyde's?

Kenny replied with a 'yes' and checked the rest of his messages. He had ten from Kyle. Most of them were incoherent, weird ramblings, but some of them were cute, like 'hey, i'm in the bathroom and i miss you.'

Kyle's last message was sent at seven a.m. but was just a bunch of letters.

Unsure about what else he needed to accomplish while at Clyde's, Kenny stuck his hands in his pockets and started to walk home.

.

.

.

.

Kyle avoided him for a day or two before approaching him, Monday after the party.

"Kenny, what's going on?" was what he was saying. Kenny was sitting on the stone steps of the school, high from a joint with Craig at the bus stop.

"You mean, at this very second? Or in general?" said Kenny, chewing on his lip, eager.

"I mean," said Kyle, showing no interest in sitting down, "with us."

"Clyde's party?"

"Yeah," said Kyle, his eyes going out of focus.

Kenny straightened his spine. "You were all over _me_." Immediately, he regretted saying that.

"That's not what _I _heard, Kenny," said Kyle, angrily. "When we were dancing—"

"You were fucking _out_ of it, Kyle."

"You took _advantage_ of me?" shouted Kyle, his cheeks red.

Kenny matched his anger. "_You're _the one who gave _me _ecstasy!"

"You know what?" said Kyle, ending the conversation, "fuck you, Kenny."

"Fuck you, first!" shouted Kenny, at Kyle's retreating back.

Fuck that kid was annoying as hell.

Once he was gone, Kenny missed him.

.

.

.

.

Another break-up. They weren't even together and they were breaking-up left and right. According to everyone else, they were having a lover's spat, which Kenny kind of guessed they were.

Over the next couple of months they broke up, made up, broke up, made up, over and over. Make-outs occurred spontaneously.

Kyle denied he was gay.

Kenny prophesized Kyle would never come out.

March 22nd came and went. They had a little party at Stark's Pond because it was getting warmer out. It was still cold as fuck, but that just made the beer taste better. There were no designer drugs at this party.

School kept them all together, even though everyone hated it and threatened to drop out. Wendy Testaburger even broke down one day and decided she was going to become a nun, to which Bebe replied, "What the hell, you're not a virgin."

Kyle had commented how ironic that phrase was, and Kenny thought about it for the rest of the day.

Both of them were getting sick of denying they were dating. The questions continued to reappear every couple of weeks. Kyle's grades slipped for a split second, but he caught himself.

May 26th was approaching fast.

Sometimes, Kyle couldn't believe how much had happened over the course of tenth grade. It was a little impossible that all of this shit had happened to him. There were tons of other kids in South Park, but did they go through anything remotely similar to what he was going through? Probably not.

Sure, girls were coming out as lesbians, but fuck, every girls goes through that stupid 'I'm bisexual and curious' stage. None of them were caught in an on-going romance-type thing with one of their best friends, right?

_Right_.

Stupid girls.

They didn't know how easy they had it.

They could make-out with each other and no one batted an eyelash. Girls kissing girls was like, fucking acceptable or some shit. When they attempted to marry each other, though, that's when it got bad, dirty, and unacceptable.

Repent, you fucking sluts!

Unfortunately, the girls around here did more than just kiss each other. They spread thousands of rumors _daily_. Not only sluts, Kyle thought, but they were bitches, too.

_Stupid_ bitches.

Ugh. He didn't want to think about it, anymore. Boys, girls, people, kids, everyone was ruining his life. All he could do was thank Moses his mother hadn't caught wind of any of this. The drugs, the drinking, the homosexuality, the parties—all before his sixteenth birthday, too. Kyle was a champ!

Haha. That was a fucking laugh.

He couldn't even control himself at a teenaged party. Some fucking champ he is.

But, but, but it's not _his _fault. _Everybody_ knows how fucking persuasive Kenny McCormick can be—with his eyes, with his voice, with his hands, with his mouth…

Kyle let his head fall onto his knees. Children ran by him and splashed in the water. Stark's Pond was nice during May. Warm, almost green. There was only a little snow left, but the pond was completely unfrozen.

He didn't know if he could keep denying it.

Honestly, they had kissed so many times he couldn't remember each one. Sometimes he was under the influence, sometimes he wasn't, sometimes he just wanted to. Kenny had that affect on him.

The problem was: Kyle Broflovski could _not_, and I repeat, could _not _be gay. There was no possibility. No way in fucking hell could he be into guys.

Really, though, the only guy he was openly into was Kenny.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he hadn't been interested in anyone, male or female, besides Kenny for a long time. Like, _years_, almost.

He tried, obviously. It just didn't work.

No one got him like Kenny did.

.

.

.

.

"It's almost Kyle's birthday, dude."

"Yeah, I _know_."

"So? What are you gonna do?"

"What do you mean? I don't _have _to do anything."

"Well, you kind of have to."

"No, I don't. He fucking pisses me off."

"You said that last week."

"Yeah, so?"

"You know what I mean. I'm just—Kenny, you can't keep this game up forever. You're going to _lose_."

"Haha, fuck you, Stan. Go suck a dick."

.

.

.

.

.

**a/n:** if you can't tell by this story, i'm a homosexual alcoholic drug addict. x)  
just joking, of course :3  
review?


	7. chapter seven

**SILVERWARE  
**by shannello

.

.

.

.

**a/n: **zee next chapter! if any of yous caught my accent just then, well, congrats! i've brought in one of my favorite boys in this chapter. :) and gave craig a funny name. hm, there's something lacking about this chap even though it's zee longest one yet. erm, well i guess that just means more chapters after this one? oh, also, tonnnns of drug references in this chapter. we're going back into kyle's head and addiction. shit. all of these problems are really making it hard for me to finish off this fic. maybe a sequel is called for... i'm not sure.

but really. unless i figure out how to... oh my gosh. i just figured it out. x)

ps, lemon.

.

.

.

.

Somewhere along the way, Kenny started hanging out with that one French kid and Craigilicious, formally known as Craig Nommel. They happened to like Kenny—even when he was pretty homosexual, was fucking around with Kyle Broflovski's emotions and/or reputation, and never _ever_ had any spare cigs or change on him. They definitely weren't Kyle or Stan or even Cartman, but they were interesting in their own right, and that was sufficient enough for Kenny.

They didn't ask for much, which was also a plus. Craig never asked about Kyle, and Christophe never _seriously_ got mad when Kenny showed up empty-handed, both of which were to Kenny's advantage.

But they were getting tired of Kenny's inability to make decisions and were quite ready to lock him and Kyle in an empty room and let things work themselves out.

How many months had it been since this whole stupid thing started anyway? Way back in September… that was almost six or seven months, 190 days or so, and the two boys had gotten well, just about _nowhere_ since they started.

They were still shy and awkward periodically, and then suddenly they'd start screaming and fighting and, oh my fucking lord, Christophe and Craig were getting exhausted just watching them duke it out.

So, when Craig suggested they help out, to his own dismay, Christophe actually considered it.

Kenny was their sort-of friend and he deserved happiness and all that sappy chick shit, so why not? He didn't have anything better do to, really, besides what he was doing at the moment—which happened to be parking himself on various benches with whiny Craig Nommel.

Whiny Craig Nommel who had liked Kenny since eighth grade? He was shit outta luck, seeing how Kenny was head-over-heels in love with Kyle.

Actually, both of them _knew_ Kenny was in love with Kyle. They could see it in the way he acted around him, the way they fought and the way they were suspiciously bffs again the next day. They could see it in the way he was always edgy when he was hanging out with the both of them—like there was somewhere else he needed to be. _Shit_, Kenny was fucking whipped by Kyle Broflovski, whether he wanted to admit to it or not.

But it was these two that insisted that Kenny stopped making a fool/bitch/douche/ass of himself and just give it a rest. Everyone already knew that Kyle was pretty much one of the gayest kids around and nothing Kenny could deny to would change that fact. Kenny had turned yet another student into a fag and had failed himself horribly.

To which Kenny responded slightly _aggressively_.

"No fucking way, you guys," said Kenny, sniffing.

Craig crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Come on, McCormick, this 'just-friends' routine you've got going for you, obviously, isn't working."

"He eez right, you know," added Christophe, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. "Plus, if Broflovski's your boyfriend you can fuck 'im and no one can say—"

Kenny shrugged, unconvinced, and cut off the rest of his sentence. "We haven't—"

"Whoa, you're not serious," interrupted Craig.

"That eez pathetic," said Christophe, frowning.

"Fuck you both," announced Kenny, pulling his hand out of his pockets to flip them the bird. Mother fucking—

"This thing's been going on for half a year and you haven't even fucked yet?" asked Craig, ignorant and stupid and Kenny wanted nothing more than to be the cause of inevitable brain trauma.

"No, okay?" said Kenny, angrily.

"They haven't even fucked," whispered Craig to Christophe, tsking a little, and the French boy shook his head disapprovingly, despite the fact that Kenny was _right_ there and could hear everything they were saying and was _this _close to socking Craig and _per'aps_ Christophe, for the hell of it.

"Listen, you dumbasses wouldn't understand since you're so openly gay with each other."

"Hey, now, you know the only person for me is you—"

"That eez zee most 'orrifying notion you've ever—"

Kenny snorted. "Sorry for forcing the two of you outta the closet. But it was bound to happen anyway, yeah?"

"Eat shit," said Craig, insulted. "Oh, and eat your pride, too, and just stop it. You're in love with Kyle, Kenny."

Christophe stared suspiciously at Craig's profile; it was strong but looked a little pubescent and young. Craig's eyes were focused on Kenny's unrelentingly, as if he could will Kenny into going over to Kyle's house and confessing his undying love for him—but Christophe could see the jealousy in those dark eyes, and the grief, and the regret.

Craig was pretty fucking selfless, the French kid decided, flicked his cigarette to his feet, and lit up another.

"Why the fuck are you ripping on me? You two never gave a shit about me and Kyle—"

Instead of letting the other boy speak up and defend their noble, unselfish actions, Christophe did two things. First, in a purely involuntary manner, he placed his hand firmly on Craig's shoulder and pulled him back a little, just enough so that Kenny would be able to focus all of his attention on him, instead. Second, after Craig was out of the way, he pulled back his hand, curled his fingers into a tight fist, and knocked Kenny McCormick off his feet.

No way, nadda, a single punch shouldn't have knocked him over, but Kenny was underweight and Christophe was still the Mole inside, thick-skinned and one hundred per cent muscle. Justifiably angry, Kenny glared up at his momentary adversary and, for a lack of a better idea, sort of… growled. He attempted to stand but (upon seeing the French kid's stern glare) ultimately decided against it.

Christophe took Kenny's hesitation to crouch in front of him and say directly into the blond boy's face, "Don't be such a pussy."

"Fuck you," squeaked Kenny, and behind Christophe Craig was staring down at him like he was disappointed… and that _hurt_. Because if there was _anything_ he hated more than dying and being rejected, respectively, it was disappointing someone.

"Listen to what I am going to say next, because you, me, and even that fucker God know that eet could fucking well be zee last thing you ever hear."

Kenny swallowed.

"I spoke with Kyle a few days ago, and I wasn't supposed to tell you this, but I think eet's important you know. He told me that he's willing to come out to zee _town_, including his horrifying mozer, if that eez what eet takes for you two to be together." Once he was finished, Christophe stood, rubbed his knuckles, and smirked down at Kenny… who was, well, he was wearing his fantastic expression that made Christophe swell with pride.

"_What_?" barked Kenny, his voice sounding weak and dry. "Kyle's going to do _what_?"

"If I were you I'd be running right now," replied Christophe. Kenny took the hint.

Craig resumed his spot next to Christophe and watched Kenny's back disappear as he ran up the street. Incredulous, he blinked. "That's not true, is it?"

Christophe shrugged, then offered the boy a slight grin. "Not really."

.

.

.

.

Kyle Broflovski was in a pickle.

Sexual tension (and quote any of his classmates on this because they would tell you the exact thing) was fucking unpleasant.

_Christ_, he couldn't even make it to lunch without getting an unwelcome hard-on, and you can't really abort _those_, now can you?

Making it even _more_ difficult, the reason behind the excitement was his dear friend Kenny McCormick… and god, he was about ready to murder the boy just to relieve himself of _something_.

But, no, that wasn't a possible option. Kenny would just come back anyway and—

—and was he really considering killing Kenny for the gratification? Okay, he needed to lay off the downers for awhile, _whoa_.

That reminded him, Kyle thought idly, sitting up from his bed. The room was dark and his door was locked, therefore he wasn't wearing a shirt or socks. After fumbling around in two different drawers, Kyle's hand emerged with a tiny orange container which was about 2/5 full of different colored pills of various sizes.

Purple microdots, eleven; blue Diazepam, seven; pale salmon colored Ambien, six; white and green Prozac, maybe six; orange Adderall, nine or so; white Ritalin, seven, and just what he wanted.

His last seven allowances were spent solely on medication that weren't prescribed to him by any doctor in Colorado, or the United States (but Kyle would argue that he could probably get clinically prescribed all of the pills he had at this point). He had a slight problem, he'd admit. But there was no way in hell he was gonna stop.

Two white pills, crushed, snorted. One swallowed.

It was over before he even noticed his hands were moving.

Kyle had promised himself two things, way back in one of his flimsy, grade-school epiphanies, one; he would never ever do hard drugs, like heroin, or meth (he had already done meth, so maybe that one was out) and two; he would never smoke anything other than cigs or weed.

Sometimes, though, after switching from oral to snorting, Kyle predicted he was a few highs from switching from snorting to smoking. Aluminum, lighter, everything.

It was just a matter of time, really.

Kyle had been a ticking time bomb, bent on self-destruction, ever since he saw the light of day. He had a hundred and two diseases, injuries, and the like and he'd only been alive for about sixteen years. 'Life is short' was a saying Kyle truly lived by. Therefore, since he was predestined to die at a young age anyway, Kyle took it upon himself to speed up the process.

That's where the drugs came in.

He didn't remember how he started doing them. One try and he was fixated on getting high, higher, deeper, drunker, and finally, completely gone. He woke up each day and spent half-an-hour on how he was going to lose his mind that night.

The drugs were hard on his body, too. Keeping him thin like that.

But they made him happy, like when he was with Kenny. It was _almost_ like that, but when he was with Kenny (who hated his drug abuse) Kyle couldn't crave anything other than the boy in front of him. Kyle wanted to be with him... and he'd come to realized that he couldn't play this game anymore. The denial, the refusal... everything. He was ready to step forward and _quit _and finally just _be_ with the kid by now.

Where was Kenny now? Hm, something to think about while the high kicked in.

Kyle hummed a little, spun in his computer chair, and sighed.

Now, he thought, drumming his fingers against his thigh, what to do? Since he had all the time in the world after snorting Ritalin and wouldn't be sleeping for a long time. He could clean up his room, since he kind of felt like that'd be a good idea, anyway. But after looking around the joint and mentally picturing what he'd do, Kyle realized he had cleaned his room a couple days ago and organized everything the way he liked it.

What else? He could do his homework, sure, but it was a Saturday and he had already gotten most of his weekend work done at school. Maybe later, after the high picked up, he'd polish away whatever work he had left.

His ass in the seat in his computer chair felt suddenly out-of-place, so Kyle rose to his feet and decided to walk around the room or something. The high was taking long, kinda, well, maybe, just a little… and it wasn't like another 10 milligrams would hurt, right?

He contemplated on snorting another one, before his eyes shifted and landed on a picture of Stan and Kenny that he had tacked to the wall a couple months ago. The picture was nice, they both had their eyes open, and both had pretty smiles. Kenny's was all teeth and happy, Stan's was friendly and wide, and Kyle remembered being the one behind the camera and pressing the button.

Kenny was always on his mind, he realized. He was thinking about him prior to seeing the picture and his smile and his eyes and… Kyle was ready for the next line.

Just as he was popping open his container there was a knock at his door, and behind it he could vaguely hear the soft panting of someone who had just ran a mile or something. The sprinter had a voice, too, apparently. "Hey, Kyle, open up, it's me."

Kyle jumped. His and Kenny's relationship was fucking screwed-up, to say the least. Kyle wasn't sure if Kenny was there to kiss him or chew his head off about something that was disturbing him, even if it had nothing to do with Kyle.

"Um, yeah, hold on," he forced out of himself, remembering he still had his pill collection out in the open. Quickly, he closed the bottle and threw some clothes over it. Slightly nervous, he ran across his room and unlocked the door.

"Hi," said Kenny.

Kyle exhaled merrily.

Either the pills were kicking in or the sheer image of Kenny's face was a upper in itself.

"Don't just stand there staring," interrupted Kenny's voice, and Kyle came hurtling back to Earth. "Let me in."

"Hah, oh, right," replied Kyle, walking back to his bed. The lights were off. "Close the door behind you—"

Before he could finish his sentence the door was shut and Kenny was in front of him and his hand was quick and flat against his face in a slap.

"What the _fuck_!" cried Kyle, clutching his face protectively, falling back onto his bed from the force of the attack. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"With me?" snapped Kenny, his blue eyes bright and hypercritical. "Kyle, what's wrong with you?"

Kyle sat in silence, despite the heavy feeling of wanting to talk Kenny's fucking ear off. There was a shit load of things he wanted to say at that moment, seeing how he was in the complete darkness as to what was ticking Kenny off so much, but he chewed on his lip instead.

"I want to be with you, too, but you can't just come out to the entire _town_, what are you thinking?" continued Kenny, his cheeks sort of pink. "Or your _mom! _No offence, but the woman is fucking insane, dude, and she'd probably castrate you herself."

Kyle's head buzzed with options of what to say, all of which were rejected by him.

As an alternative, Kyle crawled to the edge of the mattress. He grabbed Kenny's shirt, pulled the boy down to him, and managed to cover Kenny's mouth with his. Kenny returned the kiss out of habit, but pulled away temporarily to resume talking.

"I don't know what you're talking about," cut off Kyle, feeling warm and excited. He craved Kenny's mouth and wanted to binge. "I'm _not_ gay, but I like you, a lot, Kenny. I like you enough to not give a shit about you slapping me for some odd reason," he tried to explain. He gave Kenny this exhausted look, one that said 'just understand me this time and we'll figure out everything else'.

Kenny swallowed, mulled over what Kyle had said, and was on the bed in less than three seconds, their pressing his mouth hard into Kyle's. Kenny attempted to get his shirt over his head but Kyle refused to stop kissing him, which kind of amused Kenny to the point of giggling (and he did).

It was nice and it felt _good_.

Kyle was feeling energetic and awake, the skin-to-skin contact sharp and consuming. His body pulsed for attention, and for more of Kenny. He wanted Kenny to be everywhere, in his mouth, in his hands, on his thighs.

But they didn't get any farther.

"Kyle, bubbe, is someone in there with you? It looks like someone's broke in Ike's window, too. Explain!"

"You came in through Ike's window?" asked Kyle, quietly. "You could've came through _my_ window, that would have been the more sensible option. Did you mess up his room? He's really fucking OCD about his room—this one time, I was really fucked up and I went through his window (hey, are you fucked up?) oh, and well, I guess I tripped on his PS2 cord and unplugged it and he didn't save, the stupid fuck, and then the next day I woke up in—"

"_Kyle_!" stressed Kenny, who was scared shitless of Kyle's mom, and was on the verge of pissing himself.

"Oh, right!" Kyle mewed, "Ah, um, Kenny's here!"

Kenny sighed. "Why did you say that for?"

"I panicked, okay?" replied Kyle. "Is that okay, mom? Can't friends visit, or am I supposed to live my life in seclusion like some kind of incarcerated—"

Again, Kenny barked at him to shut him up. "Kyle, stop talking to her!"

"If you keep talking back to me like this I'll take away that privilege, Kyle," said Sheila, sighing miserably. "Your brother's so OCD about his bedroom. Let's pray he doesn't notice anything's out-of-place when he goes in there."

She left (presumably to tidy up Ike's broken-and-entered bedroom), and once they knew they were alone again Kyle hopped off the bed and started to pull on his socks.

"Going somewhere?" asked Kenny, stretching out on the bed, relaxed and comfortable where he was.

Kyle wiggled into a shirt and then a sweater and turned to face Kenny. "I'm going outside. You're coming with me, by the way."

"Reeeeeally? Do I have to?" whined Kenny.

"Yeah, really," replied Kyle, looking for his shoes. "If my mom's home she'll never leave us alone. And if I start talking to her I'm probably going to explode and say something stupid and get myself kicked out for the night and have to sleep at Stan's and he was telling me that Shelly's on her period right now and dude, Shelly's bad when she's _not_ menstruating and I _so _don't want to sleep over."

Kenny nodded in agreement, and wondered vaguely about Kyle's talkative streak. "I didn't bring the truck, I hope you know."

"I know," answered Kyle. "We're walking, and I'm super thirsty, so hurry up."

Kenny got off the bed and followed Kyle to the kitchen. After waiting for the boy to eliminate two glasses of fruit punch, they started out of the house.

"I'm leaving, mom!" yelled Kyle, disregarding anything she had to say in return. "Finally, I'm away from her."

"Mom problems?" asked Kenny, genuinely concerned.

Kyle huffed. "You could say that." They walked shoulder-to-shoulder down the sidewalk, destination unknown. Kyle led them in the Pond's direction, so Kenny assumed that was where they were headed.

"She won't get off my back. About everything. School, my _friends_, even talking on the fucking phone. I don't know, well, maybe it's because Dad's been acting weird, too, lately. I don't know what the fuck's going on anymore."

Kyle shrugged, dismissing the topic.

"Sorry, Kyle," said Kenny, debating between 'Kyle' and 'dude'.

"It's fine," replied the red-head, shivering a little. "So, how are you?"

"Remember that cat that hangs out at my house?" asked Kenny, and after Kyle nodded he added, "It died yesterday."

"I'm sorry. I know you liked that cat and everything."

Kenny gave him a look. "How would you know if I liked that cat?"

"You would sacrifice your dinner to feed him—"

"Yeah, to appease the _gods_. I was hoping they'd keep me alive long enough to pass biology this marking period, at least. But I guess my offerings weren't good enough or something, so they killed my cat."

"_Your_ cat? Ah, so I was right all along." Kyle grinned, nudging Kenny playfully.

The blonde laughed. "Yeah, I guess you were."

Kyle was radiating some kind of happiness that was contagious (though in Kenny's case he didn't have to inject, swallow or inhale anything). They walked in a momentary silence that Kyle looked eager to break.

Which he _did_. "Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I didn't think my mom would show up at _that_ moment, you know? Sorry."

Kenny smiled at him. "No problem, haha. Mom's have been known to do that…"

"Ugh," moaned Kyle, catching on. "I don't wanna hear about your past sexual encounters, so stop there."

"What? Come onnn, let me tell you at least _one_."

"No!" Kyle clasped his hands over his ears. "Leave me alone!"

Kyle was smiling through the whole performance, but Kenny let him be and kept the story to himself. "You'll have to listen to one eventually, Kyle…"

"No, I _don't_."

"Sure you do," replied Kenny. "And where are you taking me?"

"Nowhere in particular," said Kyle, suddenly wanting that line he never made. Shit. Well, he guessed it was okay, he was already buzzed.

He was glad Kenny didn't figure out he was on something. The guy would've slapped him across the face, _again_ (Kyle still wondered what that was all about), or something worse.

Glancing at Kenny's profile, Kyle noticed how relaxed he seemed. How happy he was.

Just by being with him? Maybe. Kyle could dream.

Then Kenny said something that made Kyle's skin hot and his head race.

"That's okay with me."

Too calm, too nice, Kenny needed to do pills with him, for sure, Kyle thought. How could the dude get away with being so nonchalant, anyway?

Kyle shrugged to himself, then replied with, "Good, because I have no idea where we're going. What street are we on, anyway?"

"Main street, maybe? …I didn't know the streets had names."

"Oh, right, yeah."

"Are you okay?" asked Kenny, and Kyle sped up.

"I'm fine! Just a little… _cold_."

"Walk closer to me, then," ordered Kenny, pulling Kyle to his side, snugly. "So, you were really going to come out to the entire town _and_ your mom?"

Kyle squirmed. "What?" was the first thing he said, then, "Oh, I was wondering what you were talking about when you were slapping me."

"Huh? So… that wasn't true?"

"Um, yeah? I'm still confused, by the way."

"Fucking French bastard…"

Kyle sighed, "Never mind. But… I guess I'd come out to the entire town to be with you. Maybe. Yeah, I think I could do that."

Kenny stared. "Really?"

"Yeah, I think so. It'd be better being known as your boyfriend than… whatever I am to you right now."

Kenny wanted to say something really cheesy like 'you're my everything' but ruled against it. Instead he said, "You mean a lot to me."

"Ditto," said Kyle.

After a short silence, Kenny spoke up. "You don't have to do anything like that for me, though."

Kyle snorted. "Of course not. I wouldn't go through with something like that, anyway! Could you imagine it? Me, standing on the mayor's stage, mic in hand, saying, 'Citizens of South Park, I, Kyle Broflovski, is gay for Kenny McCormick,' hm?"

Kenny snickered. "I think that was enough right there."

Kyle, however, quickly dropped the subject upon their arrival. "Look! No one's at the Pond today. _Killer_."

.

.

.

.

"My birthday's coming up," sang Kyle, the following Monday in the hall at school.

"It's tomorrow, in fact," replied Kenny, just as enthusiastically.

"Yeah, it is. :] And since I know you're not going to score me any pharmaceutics, I'm a little curious about what you're getting me…"

"Who says I'm getting you something?" said Kenny, noticing Kyle's frown. "I might _give_ you something, though."

Kyle blinked. "_Give? _I'll spend all day trying to figure that out."

"Really? It's not _too_ hard." Insert cocky grin.

"Um, nope, nothing. Maybe I'll ask Stan, maybe you told him what you're getting me."

Kenny shrugged. "Yeah, you could ask him… if you don't mind him hurling."

Kyle shot him a look. "What is it?"

"Not telling!"

"_Tell_."

"No, sorry, sir," said Kenny, skipping away. "See you after class!"

Damn it, thought Kyle. He fucking hated surprises.

.

.

.

.

And, as mentioned above, Kyle's birthday had eventually come.

This marked the eight month the affair-type thing had spanned throughout. Kenny and Kyle were like a two-piece set, like salt and pepper shakers.

Kyle's birthday was pretty decent, too. He woke up to some Kosher breakfast that wasn't shit for once and got like five-hundred dollars in birthday money (and that was just between his parents, he couldn't wait for his other relatives to visit for once). At school Kyle realized how many people actually knew him—he had received tons of 'happy birthdays', a couple hugs from some unimportant side-character girls, and even a present (okay, well, it was from Butters, but it was still a present).

What he was _really_ looking forward to, though, was whatever Kenny had in store for him. The boy had promised him something and Kyle was ready… so, where was he?

It was almost fourth period and still no gift. Nothing. Kyle was heartbroken.

Okay, well, that's an exaggeration, but still. He thought Kenny would have at least gave him a kiss or somethin—

"Ah!" yelped Kyle, after being pulled out of the hallway and into the boys bathroom.

The room was deserted (since it was between classes) expect for one sole figure.

Kenny!

"Finally, we're together!" said Kyle, happily. "I've been sixteen all day and you've been no where to be seen, what the fuck?"

"I was around," said Kenny, shyly. "I was reconsidering giving you what I was gonna, you know, for your birthday."

Kyle blinked. "Why?"

Kenny smiled a little. "I didn't know how to get it to you."

"_Really_," said Kyle, interested. "Is it big?"

Kenny gave a lopsided grin, different from his smile before. This one was a little more devious. "Ah, I think so."

"Where is it?"

"Closer than you think," answered Kenny, attempting to charm the boy. "You're so lucky I caught you walking back to class..."

"Is it in this bathroom?" Kyle asked, still curious about his gift.

"Fuck, you're cute," blurted Kenny, who then instantly blushed.

Kyle shot him another look. He looked like he was going to say something in reply, but Kenny, being Kenny, interrupted him with a sexual advance.

"Do you think your teacher will be mad if you're a little late?"

"What… do you mean?" questioned Kyle, eyeing the other boy suspiciously, and then was attacked by a pair of pink lips and two groping hands.

"Happy birthday," said Kenny, biting Kyle's neck, lip, ear.

Kyle moaned involuntarily and realized.

This was it.

What he had thought about every day since November or so. What he wanted.

What he was ready to _accept_ (and enjoy).

Kenny stopped his assault to take off his sweater, then his shirt, and Kyle stared at him like a hungry kid stares at a candy store. Kenny grinned and helped Kyle undress, first his jacket, then his tee-shirt, and Kenny paused again.

His eyes were bright and ravenous, and after ogling for a second, he said, "I want you."

Kyle blushed, and Kenny repeated, "I want you _so_ bad…"

His hands were everywhere in the next millisecond. Kyle's body ached with excitement, his jeans tightening.

"I've wanted you for so long," whispered Kenny, his lips on Kyle's neck, and Kyle tugged at the blonde's jeans.

"Do something about it," spat Kyle, feeling a rush of arousal. Stop talking, stop teasing, just _do something_!

Their lips smashed into each other awkwardly at first. Kenny's mouth was positioned too high, maybe because he was so tall, and Kyle relocated his lips to fit the kiss better. It worked, and the two boys made-out as if either of them had stopped the other would disappear.

Kyle unbuttoned Kenny's jeans and got them to pool around his feet, then forced his own pair off quickly. His mouth devoured Kenny's, and his hands were on Kenny's neck, holding him against him, keeping him there.

He was _ready_.

Slowly, Kyle got down on his knees and took point. He pulled down Kenny's boxers and automatically took the boy's cock in his hands. Kenny's eyes widened.

"You know, I've never done this before, so… if it sucks, sorry," warned Kyle beforehand, and then languidly brought his mouth to Kenny's tip.

He was slow about it but it still felt fucking good.

Eventually the thing was in his mouth and his untrained tongue was swirling around the head. He sucked on it a little, just to see what kind of expression Kenny would make, and after surveying said expression Kyle sucked on it again.

His hands were stationed inactive at the bottom of Kenny's cock, but Kyle decided he might as well do something with them. He was the kind of boy who knew how to walk and chew gum at the same time since he was born (if that makes any sense at all). So this _should _have been easy… but moving your hands in one direction and your mouth in another was much harder than he'd originally thought it'd be.

Kenny, meanwhile, was in heaven.

Okay, so, sure he'd been to heaven before… well, this was better than that. Having the boy he'd been chasing for months finally _his_, well, he'd choose that over heaven in a heart beat.

And then suddenly—it was over.

Kenny blinked back to reality, noticing out of the corner of his eye what Kyle was doing. Now pant-less, Kyle had gotten off of his knees and grabbed Kenny's wrist.

He was looking at Kenny uncertainly, and Kenny feared he was going to tell him that he couldn't go through with it, but instead he said, "Where… do we do this?"

Kenny's heart swelled. "Um, just turn around."

Kyle obeyed and turned away from Kenny. He placed his hands in front of him on the dirty bathroom wall and waited.

Behind him, Kenny was grinning and blushing and congratulating himself. Fuck, he wanted Kyle so bad. He wanted to fuck him, to kiss him continuously, to sleep next to him. He wanted them to be together.

"Hurry up!" said an impatient boy, and Kenny snapped into action.

In an split second Kenny was positioned behind Kyle. His dick was hard and wet and he figured it'd go in pretty smoothly—but was proven wrong.

"Shit, Kyle, it's unhealthy to be _this _tight!"

"Well, sorry I'm a virgin, Kenny. _Ow_! Take it easy, Jesus. Go up, not straight through me!"

To be honest, Kenny wanted to be all directions inside Kyle.

After a few more ouchies, Kenny was in pretty nicely. "Is that okay?" he asked, considerately, and Kyle bit his lip and nodded.

"It's okay. Ready?"

Kenny kissed the back of Kyle's neck and said, "Yeah."

He pushed in a little more, producing a painful squeak from Kyle, and then immediately pulled back. He started to create a sort of rhythm of doing it, one that wasn't uncomfortable. Kyle stopped yelping in displeasure after a couple minutes and actually moaned a little.

God, Kenny couldn't come up with enough adjectives to describe how it felt. Everything fit together perfectly, he thought. It had never been so right with someone else.

Kyle, however, was new to this kind of thing. He was standing awkwardly and his back hurt (and so did his ass) but the wet feeling of being filled was enough to make him hard.

Actually, just being with Kenny was enough to do that.

"Oh, _fuck_," whispered Kyle, chewing on his lip.

His body throbbed.

"Just a little more," said Kenny, and Kyle reached back with one hand and squeezed his arm.

"Don't you _dare_ stop."

Kenny laughed, "Mm… Okay."

So he didn't.

Not until he came, anyway.

.

.

.

.

**a/n:** did you enjoy that sex scene? haha. finally some _actual_ sex in this fic. bout time.  
sos, anyway, yeah. this fic is just about over.  
seriously. there's one filler chapter after this (about the side characters, like butterssss, omg) and then the ACTUAL final chapter.  
it was a nice ride, eh? let's hope we get there safely.  
thanks for reading chapter seven, everyone. drop a comment? i'll love ya.

thanks to; midnight harvest moon (marry me), Itachi. Oh Enka (marry me), Lilzenium (marry me), Zoshi (marry me), and The Brat Prince (marry me). thanks for the supportive words, everyone. this fic truly wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you :)

marry me?


	8. chapter eight

**SILVERWARE  
**by shannello

.

.

.

.

**a/n: **we're almost done! this chapter is kinda dumb. :/ but the next chapter should tie most of everything up? maybe? hopefully? yes.  
anyway, i just wanted to bring in a couple more character before ending this story. i missed cartman's asshole of a character, and STAN OMFG I LOVE YOU STAN, and the Goths (haha sorry bout the random pairing i freakin' threw in on a whim), the girls, and CHRISTOPHE. i like my christophe in this chapter. it sounds more like him. more.. FRENCH. yeah. well, review please? i'm desperate. haha :D

.

.

.

.

By the time everyone had known that Kyle and Kenny were official, it had probably been thirty minutes after Butters had stumbled into the boys bathroom before fourth period. His eyes jumped from that shirt right there, to those pants over there, to that sock, to those calves, to that smooth, sweaty back.

Before he could turn around and run back through the door, Butters heard one of the boys moan and exhale loudly. He whispered loudly to the other boy, "Ah, look, it's Butters."

That was Kyle Broflovski.

Butters had known him for years, but it was just recently that he'd started to harbor a little dislike for the guy. Kyle was great, don't get him wrong, but when your bff dumps you for someone else, what else can you do but get mad?

Said ex-bff, who was still continuously running through Butters head, happened to be in the room.

He happened to be the other boy (mentioned above), the one with dirty, blonde hair, and he glanced over his shoulder and looked Butters up and down. "So it is."

_So cold_! thought Butters, his face burning at ungodly temperatures. Did Kenny think so low of him that he couldn't even pull his dick out of Kyle's ass before discussing him? Common courtesy, please!

With nothing left to say, Butters mumbled an apology of some sort, blushed, and ran out.

.

.

.

.

Well, what was he supposed to do?

Butters was _known_ to be a gossip.

"Kenny and Kyle!" was heard throughout the hallways almost immediately afterward.

Heads had popped out of various classrooms, just in time to watch the boy in blue sprint by. Pink faced, Butters locked eyes briefly with whoever came out to see him, shouting, "Kenny and Kyle, they're… _together_!"

"Oh, my god," said a background character, sounding suspiciously like Powder, "_Finally_."

"Is is true?" asked a skeptical Wendy, daring to poke her head out of the Environmental Studies classroom (the class was usually situated outdoors, but, for the plausibility of Wendy being available as a cynical voice, the class was held indoors that day). Butters skidded by her, catching her eyes steadily, as if to will her into believing.

"A-absolutely, Wendy," stuttered Butters, pausing for a minute to watch her cross her arms, then uncross her arms, then unexpectedly run back into her classroom to further the spread of news herself.

Butters hit a few more hotspots (girls bathroom, library, study hall) before returning to his classroom, panting heavily. He had pretty much stabilized the news flash among his classmates, leaving the responsibility to the rest of them. Annie told Rebecca, Rebecca told Kevin, Kevin told Jason, Jason told Token, Token told Craig.

Stan, who was supposed to be in English (but that class positively raped him), was making his ten minute bathroom break last as long as possible. He was at his locker when Craig slapped him on the shoulder.

"So," said Craig, his signature vacant look on his face. "Did you hear?"

"If you mean the sound of that slap echoing, then yes," said Stan, wincing.

Craig glared at him, deathly serious. "_No_. Did you hear that Kenny and Kyle are together?"

Stan blinked. "Surprisingly, no. Any merit behind it?"

Craig sighed. "I don't know. That little fag Butters is spreading it around, so it could go either way."

Stan wanted to defend Butters, maybe by saying something witty like 'speak for yourself, asshole' or whatever, but Craig continued before he could get anything out.

"I really hope this whole thing is over," commented Craig, running a quick hand through his dark, shaggy hair.

Stan had to agree. "For reals, dude."

They shared a moment of mutual understanding, said bye, and parted ways. Craig shouted over his shoulder, "If you see Leopold Stotch, ask him how he found out, mkay?"

Stan gave a customary nod (although he wasn't going to look for Butters), knowing that the truth would eventually come to him.

.

.

.

.

The Goth kids weren't critically known as being 'with the times' (they still wore shit from the Victorian era, authentic, via eBay), but they were unusually included whenever gossip was distributed.

Usually, it was just a random chick who would swing open the back door of the school, lean over the railing, and tell them whatever was hip and new and interesting. On that particular day, however, it was a boy.

Stan Marsh, sixteen, jock.

"Back again, Marsh?" said Red (who was occasionally known as Dylan), eyes half-lidded, looking as if he'd been expecting Stan to show up that very moment. He flicked his bangs, smirking.

Stan eyed him warily, feeling a weird prick in his stomach. "Did you guys hear something, uh, a rumor?"

The kids exchanged glances.

"Like, about what?" said Henrietta in her usual, bored tone.

"Uhm, about Kenny McCormick and—"

Ethan cut him off. "_Actually_, we might have."

Stan started feeling what could have possibly been the beginnings of impatience, but kept it to himself. He exhaled loudly, then said, "Well? Could you, um, tell me what you know?"

"Pssh, like, maybe for a blow job, Marsh," said Red, trying to lock eyes with Stan.

Ethan laughed, took a drag of his anemically thin cig, and puffed out the smoke.

"You're such a fag," said Stan, but there was a lack of sincerity on his voice.

"Like your friends?" replied Red, as he leaned over to Ethan with an un-lit cigarette and lit it on the burning end of his (which was still between is lips, btw). The scene was kind of, well, heheh.

Stan swallowed thickly.

"We'll tell you one thing," said Ethan, enjoying this little game of 'annoy Stan Marsh, ex-Goth'. He took his time, finishing off his cigarette before looking directly into Stan's eyes and saying, "Dylan was in the guy's bathroom the whole time they were fucking."

"What the fuck," said Red, obviously pissed. "I wanted to tell the fuck, you prick."

"Sorry, it just felt like it would produce a bigger effect if I said it."

"Dude, _I_ was the one in the fucking bathroom."

Stan, amidst the bickering of his informants, said, "_Fucking_?"

"Guys," said Henrietta, possibly looking even more bored than before. "It spoke."

Red and Ethan stopped arguing enough to catch a deliciously distraught look on Stan's face.

"F.U.C.K.I.N.G," spelled out Red, smirking. After a moment, he added, "Tell your friend Kyle I said he has a nice ass."

Stan blanched. "Awh, weak, dude."

Red took another drag.

And after shaking involuntarily (an effect of the mental image that had invaded his brain), Stan frowned. "You're telling me the truth, aren't you?"

The Goths sighed and mumbled under their breath at different intervals, creating an even more miserable atmosphere. Finally, once their ministrations were finished, Georgie, the littlest Goth, piped up.

"We're _so_ not shitting you."

Stan nodded. So, it was true.

.

.

.

.

Back inside the school, somewhere inside what was supposed to be a locked utilities closest, two boys were passing a joint back and forth between them.

"It fucking worked," said one boy, after passing off the joint.

His friend, taller and Frencher, said, "What worked? My igneous fucking plan, or zee way I lock-picked that faggy door?" He took a hit and passed the weed back.

"You know what I mean," said Craig, grinning sheepishly.

Christophe tried to look unflustered, and said, "Fucking weed. I don't think eet works on me."

Craig laughed. "It most definitely does."

"Fuck you," said Christophe, feeling warm and proud. "But what you said earlier, zat was true, _no_? Aha, my plans never fail."

Craig nodded merrily, indicating his agreement. "I'm glad you decided to help that piece of shit, after all."

"I was planning on helping zee bastard zee entire time," admitted Christophe, taking the slightly smaller joint from Craig. "I've got a soft spot for blondes."

They shared a quiet moment. Craig exhaled, and said wisely, "Don't we all."

.

.

.

.

After Craig and Christophe had parted ways, both exceptionally high, Craig had run into his arch-enemy.

Cartman, looking unusually _happy_, waited until Craig was close before spitting out his name. "_Craig_."

Craig, with his hazy mind and hazy vision, stopped almost immediately. He panicked inwardly that he was about to bump into Cartman and accidentally have to _touch_ that body, but he wasn't as close to Eric as his mind led him to believe.

At least three feet away, Craig replied, "Uh, hi."

"Hear about _Kenny _and _Kyle_?" jabbed Cartman., insensitively. "You, of all people, should be anguishing right now. At this _very _moment."

"What are you tryin' to say?" barked Craig, rubbing his eyes.

Cartman flashed his teeth in a grin. "You know well what I mean. It's pretty sad, if you ask me. Your _unrequited_ love for that poor piece o' shit. There's no chance of it being returned, now, you know that, don't you Craig?"

Craig narrowed his eyes. What the hell was this guy's deal? "Dude, fuck off," said the skinnier of the two, walking away as bravely as he could. Cartman was such a sick fuck. Couldn't Craig just be happy for Kenny? Couldn't he just let it go and let Kenny be a cheery, infatuated little fuck? Couldn't he? Couldn't—

"Oh, and Craig?"

_Cartman_.

Craig, regrettably, turned around.

"What the _hell_ do you want from me?" shouted Craig, and Cartman knew he had fucking cracked him. He had crawled inside him like a fucking parasite and laid _babies_.

"Just wanted to tell you to move on, Craig. Just, _move on_."

.

.

.

.

"They stole the gay-thing from me," garbled Bebe, albeit slightly incoherently around the food in her mouth. It was lasagna day, and although Bebe usually avoided carbs (and calories in general) skipping breakfast and lunch for the last couple of days had made her cranky and hungrier than usual. "Where the hell is my girlfriend?"

So, lasagna and gossip it was.

"STFU," said Rebecca, taking her seat between Annie and Millie. "Are you drunk again?"

Bebe offered Rebecca her patented, Alfa-female glare. "What the hell, I only did that _once_."

Heidi joined them a moment later. "What are we talking about?"

"Bebe says Kyle and Kenny stole the gay-thing from her," said Annie, catching Heidi up.

Heidi nodded sagely and said, "Ohhhh." A moment later, "Is she drunk again?"

"You all suck dick," said Bebe, frustrated by her friends' constant reminder of that _one_ freakin' time that she drank too much tequila to wake her up before school and, ugh, couldn't they just let it go?

Finally Lola showed up, taking her rightful place beside Bebe ("About time, you bitch," said Bebe, but it's in parentheses because it's just not romantic).

Wendy appeared after that, and took her reserved seat. Her dark eyes jumped around the table, observing her friends' troubled expressions, and asked, "Well? What are we talking about?"

Heidi recapped her, and once the girl was finished talking Wendy gave Bebe a scholarly frown.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" said Bebe, before Wendy could pair words with her expression. "Don't you spend lunch eating food out of Stan's mouth like a baby bird?"

Wendy, unfazed by Bebe's callousness (they'd been bffs since third grade, they'd been through all of the shit bffs go through—they were definitely legit by now), took a bite out of her lasagna. "Today's a gossip day."

Which implied Wendy had shit to _discuss_.

Instinctively, all of the girls (including Bebe) leaned forward and in.

"I expect all of you have heard Kyle and Kenny are _legitimate_."

A chorus of 'mhm's and 'yeah's and 'I was the first to know!'s followed shortly after. Wendy put down her fork.

"Did any of you know there's a love-triangle involved?"

An embarrassed unanimity of 'noo's followed after. It was so humiliating to be caught out of synch. Knowing the latest gossip was extremely important to any girl's girl-hood.

One girl, however, had answered with an 'of course', instead of an 'noo'.

_Bebe_.

Bebe had a secret weapon. She and Leopold Stotch had a strict contract.

In this particular case, Butters had ran to Bebe as soon as he had finished spreading the news thorough out that first hall. Fifteen minutes after she had learned Kyle and Kenny were together, Butters had ran back to her, panting, muttering something about Cartman talking to Craig and Craig was _really_ angry and—

Bebe smirked. "Craig Tucker's in love with Kenny."

There was a chorus of 'aww's starting from one end of the table and spanning all around the outside to the other.

Wendy nodded sagely. "What a shame."

"The shit that goes on these days," muttered Nelly.

There was a moment of silence at the Popular Girl's Table that afternoon, reflecting on the broken hearts and praying for the unrequited love that was, erm, unrequited, all around the world.

"Well, Craig's a little penis, so serves him right," said Bebe, shooting Craig an unbeknownst death-glare from across the room.

Wendy's eyes may or may not have flashed red. "All agreed? Craig Tucker is a little penis and deserves no pity from the girls, whatsoever?"

"Agreed!" shouted the girls of the Girl's Table, creating a ruckus through out the lunchroom.

"Shut the hell up over there, you goddamn vaginas!"

There was a collective sigh at the Girl's Table.

"Cartman's such a douche," said Nelly.

"He really needs to learn his fucking lesson," said Wendy, malice on her voice.

So, that was how the next determination came about.

How the girls of the Girl's Table would transpire Eric Cartman's future 'accident'.

.

.

.

.

The Boy's lunch table, however, was unusually… _quiet_.

Kyle wasn't there to get ripped on by Cartman, which generally resulted in either of them leaving their seats to lunge themselves at the other, attempting to get in a good smack.

Kenny wasn't there to pick at his friend's trays, stealing their undercooked fries, rambling on about the last time he died and how fucking gross it was, because he had to wait until he fucking _bledout_ before actually going to hell.

The kids who _were_ present at the lunch table (Stan, Cartman, Clyde, Token, Tweek, Butters) were exchanging embarrassed glances, their ears red from blushing.

Because, _shit_, dude. What _else_ would they be doing?

Teenaged boys needed only three things; sleep, food, and sex. Seeing how none of the boys could really picture Kyle and Kenny curled protectively around each other, skipping lunch to snooze somewhere within the school—there was only one possibility.

Seeing how Kenny had never skipped lunch to do anything else _but_.

"It's weird," said Clyde, eyeing his lunch dispassionately, as if he'd lost his appetite. "They're doing, you know, right now."

Stan swallowed. He was probably right.

Red had been in the bathroom the entire time they were fucking, Stan remembered Ethan telling him that. Kyle was with Kenny, his mouth around Kenny's—

"What are you thinkin' 'bout?" asked Butters, ogling Stan from across the lunch table. "You've got this funny little look on your face."

Stan stared down at his lunch, ignoring Butters. He couldn't even bring himself to eat. It was weird, knowing that his two best friends were _together_. Part of him wanted to hear about it from _them_ and not from the entire high school population.

He poked at his lasagna with his fork.

He debated on skipping lunch and going to find Red.

"_Stan?_" someone was saying sternly, and Stan's eyes flickered slowly to the source of it.

"Yeah?" he said, upon seeing it was Token who'd called him.

Token shrugged, looking away. "You were zoning out. Are you okay?"

"Oh, um, yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

He noticed their eyes inspecting his face, and he felt a blush crawl up his spine. Embarrassed, he looked at something interesting in a different direction.

"You didn't talk to Kyle yet, did you?" asked Clyde, and Stan didn't like his tone of voice.

"No, okay? It's not a big deal. Just finish your lasagna."

Clyde gave him a look. "What if I'm full?"

"Eat it, anyway," replied Stan. He picked up his tray and walked over to the garbage can to dump his lunch.

_That's it_. Stan walked toward the cafeteria door.

He could feel the pull of Wendy's eyes on his retreating shoulders.

.

.

.

.

"Twice in one day?" said a familiar, haughty voice. "You must really want me to take you back."

"It's not like that," said Stan, leaning back against a locker.

Red smiled. "I beg to differ, Marsh."

Here, he attempted to lean in close to Stan, but Stan swiveled his body out of Red's line of attack.

"What the fuck was that?" asked the Goth, angrily. "You'd kiss me when you were Goth."

"I was _eight_."

"That didn't matter to you _then_," replied Red, stomping his feet as he walked a reasonable distance from Stan. He leaned back against the lockers across the hall.

Stan eyed him, but his face softened considerably. "Look, sorry."

"It's fine," snapped Red, avoiding Stan's line of sight. Quickly, he turned around and looked directly at Stan. "You'll come around eventually."

Stan preferred not to answer.

"So," began Red, shivering. The empty hall echoed slightly, and there was an annoying breeze. "Couldn't handle lunch, Stanley?"

"Stanley," said, erm, _Stanley_, with a laugh. He had a far-off, dreamy look in his gaze, his eyes focused further down the hall instead of on Red. "I don't like the school's lasagna,_ Dylan_."

"Right," said Red, bitterly.

They stood in silence for a quick second, before Red pushed himself off of the locker with a little "hut".

"So, ready to find your friends?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," muttered Stan, taking his place beside Red.

They made their way down the hall, trying to determine where the pair could be hiding. They decided on checking the boys bathroom again, just to make sure they weren't still… you know, in there.

It was empty, though.

"What the fuck," said Red.

Stan huffed, angrily. "Dude, I know."

They left the bathroom (after Red kicked open every stall with his boot like a pro) and tried to come up with something else.

"What if they just ditched?" asked the Goth, curiously.

"Kenny would, Kyle wouldn't, but maybe?" replied Stan, actually unsure.

Red eyed him. "Guess you don't know your friends as well as you think."

Stan blinked. "You really enjoy tormenting me, don't you?"

The Goth shrugged. "Well, you know. Tormenting, torturing. I'm really big on that S&M thing."

Stan glanced over at him. "…I'm sure."

After wandering the halls aimlessly for another ten minutes, Red crossed his arms and said, "Let's ditch, too."

And Stan, with nothing else particular to say/do/think, said, "Why not?"

.

.

.

.

"You're _great_."

"Okay, now you're just teasing me."

Kenny grinned affectionately. "So not teasing. You're really good, dude."

Kyle glared. "Shut up."

Kenny kissed his face, three times. "Hmm, no."

"Stop it," ordered Kyle, and Kenny jumped on him. He showered his boyfriend with several kisses in a fast succession.

"Nope," said Kenny.

"Fine," replied Kyle, and then he turned and covered Kenny's mouth with his, angrily.

"Does this mean we're doing it, again?" asked Kenny, innocently eyeing Kyle's mouth.

Kyle stared at him as if Kenny had just said something weird, like, 'Dude, I'm Elvis.' "Why else do you think we skipped school to do?" asked the red-head, and Kenny grinned, again. He kissed him hard on the lips, really quick.

"Dude, I fucking love you."

.

.

.

.

**a/n:** what a cute way to end a chapter. awh, i'm so cute.  
i mean... kenny's so cute. yeah. that's what i meant.  
anywho!  
REVIEW YOUR ASSES OFF.


	9. chapter nine

**SILVERWARE**  
by shannello

.

.

.

.

**a/n:** it's all over, loves. i hope you enjoyed this little slice of shit. honestly, i didn't think i'd actually finish it! it's thanks to some sweet fucking reviewers and friends that encouraged and motivated me to continue and dish out the rest. and, if you'd avert your attention to this paragraph right here, i actually included the _title_ in this freakin' fic. hehe. i guess that officially ties things up. **thank you**, once again, i wholly believe that the completion of this story is thanks to _you_, definitely, and tell me what you think! love it, hate it (okay, don't tell me that, plz), beg me for more, whatev! i love you all with my teeny tiny heart and i hope to hear from youuu. i hope this inspires other writers to take up kyle/kenny. may kenny and kyle fall in love in a million more fics.

.

.

.

.

Life eventually went back to normal.

Okay, being honest, South Park, Colorado wasn't exactly _normal_ to begin with. People burst into flames sporadically, eight-year-olds caused mass-flooding, the homeless over-ran, the mayor was a dirty lesbian—_okay_, sorry about that last one.

But, speaking on behalf of the town itself, after those two little homos finally accepted their freakin' attraction and went steady, well, the atmosphere around South Park cleared up a little. The number of the spontaneous combusted went down a nudge.

Their classmates, Stan, Cartman, Butters, Craig, Clyde, Wendy, Bebe, Annie, etc., urged the two to throw a Finally Together party but they refused—Kyle was joining Narcotics Anonymous and didn't want to mess this up.

Soon Kyle would be clean as a whistle and would have _control_ over his actions (which was what he wanted all along). It'd be hard, he knew that, but he was willing to fucking _try_.

And Kenny was damn _proud_. Boy, did he love that kid.

Kyle was joining NA and actually trying to change his lifestyle, Kenny had a steady job, and they knew they'd stay together for a long freakin' time. Ultimately, they both knew college may or may not split them up, but both of them were ready to commit to _anything_. Kenny would move to Massachusetts for Kyle, since he was definitely going to get into Harvard and they'd live in a cozy little apartment somewhere in Cambridge or the surrounding area. They'd buy silverware with _K_s on their handles, and Kenny would learn how to cook, and Kyle would come home from work and they'd make love like it was their first time all over again, only not as awkward and uncomfortable. And, with the unlikely possibility that Kenny couldn't move, Kyle vowed to stay loyal, no matter what.

Because, well, they'd come _this_ far.

They'd gone through fucking _enough _shit to designate them as husband and husband by _now_.

No more freakin' denial. That was a dark period of their past and neither of them was willing to go back.

Now their days were a little different from the constant hot-looks-from-across-the-hall-quick-make-out-in-janitor's-closet-repeated-argument-about-what-was-going-on-between-them-denial-intiated-run-away-blushing-go-home-think-about-each-other-go-to-sleep-wake-up and repeat.

An increase in video game playage, a lot of hot, steamy sex that their friends were uncomfortable with but obviously jealous of, a long, sickeningly sweet romance that two teenaged boys shouldn't been able to really take seriously but did, and complementary study time outlined their days together.

Some fighting was necessary to keep things real, but, _no_, Kenny never cheated. He knew when to keep it in his pants, and, whenever Kyle had that look in his eye, when to take it back out.

Which, in fact, was exactly what they were doing _now_, to commemorate the first day of summer and their 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 month affair, and, officially, their almost two strong months of actual dating.

Kenny's hand was on Kyle's cock, rhythmically jerking him off. Kyle stifled a moaned.

"You don't have to be so _shy_, dude. We've done this a million times," remarked Kenny, eyeing his boyfriend suspiciously. "Just _let it out_."

Kyle moaned a little louder, but, of course, Kenny was not satisfied.

"_Louder_," growled the blonde, increasing in speed.

Kyle just _couldn't_ hold it in.

"Awh, dude," groaned Kenny, releasing Kyle's dick. "I didn't want you to come so soon!"

"S-sorry," stuttered Kyle, sucking in quick breaths. "You're getting better at that."

"_Better_?" asked Kenny. Amusing. "And I thought I'd mastered that expertise pretty completely…"

"Hah hah," said Kyle sarcastically. "You know what I mean."

Kenny blinked at him almost _innocently_. "No. I'm afraid I don't."

Skillfully, he crawled over Kyle's sheets and pinned his boyfriend down. "Maybe you'll have to show me."

Kyle glared at him. Ah, but it was visibly half-hearted. Eventually, Kyle commenced the make-out and slid his clammy hands into Kenny's jeans.

"I'm still pretty terrible at this, I hope you know," said Kyle into Kenny's ear. He chewed gently on his boyfriend's ear lobe.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," laughed Kenny.

Kyle's hand moved up and down, slowly, then eventually gained speed. He handled Kenny with precision—Kenny was so so _proud_.

"I see I've taught you well," he remarked, feigning haughtiness. Mmm, he may have moaned a little, but unlike his beautiful, red-haired counterpart, Kenny wasn't afraid to show his appreciation or _joy_.

He guessed that's what he could call them, being together like this, but not only like this. They felt genuinely good when they were just sitting by each other, knees brushing, toes touching underneath a table, hands bumping into each other while they walked—it was a real, indisputable happiness that overcame them when they were simply _together_. Talking, sitting in silence, neither mattered at all.

Just a flicker of green eyes, a flash of baby blues, the creeping flush, the pounding hearts. It was typical of them, but it was definitely a custom they neither wanted to break or _could_.

"_Kyle_," breathed Kenny, feeling rejuvenated and happy. "I—"

"Save it," ordered Kyle, and Kenny loved when he dominated him like that.

.

.

.

.

**a/n: **bye bye forever dearies.  
- shannello :)


End file.
